O why is my life so addle, in the dark of the night? Adroit composer of a song the wind shall carry. To blow across the meadows of spring.

And the sweet smell of flowers add to its strength. Carrying it further into the deep woods, a sigh of recognition.

Blown past buildings of nature, skyscrapers, alive. Reaching higher in the sky then one should dream. Only to fall gently down, as a leaf beside the stone. Covered by time layer upon layer of green, of life, alive.

O this is where I lay, at last to rest beneath the ground. Bound by stone, yet free. Free to fly, to sing as the wind. To touch all things alive.

I am alive...

©1994 A Mad Poet