8 Sep 2008

in fire i have burned, though like the bush, not consumed
as if in the imagining, the calling of my name, my name
a voice like unto a doom, but no, my calling, my calling
wordless, huddled in a ball on the floor, alone
still, a hope still hidden in the hollow of my heart
and like a fantasy, forgotten, lost in the sands of thought
until a notion, a smell, to stir awake the dream, the dream

posted by John H. Doe @ 12:01 am

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