Tuesday, April 12, 2005


this is a poem called "waiting" by an outsider again

I can taste the sun, so
What if it’s midnight?
It’s there on the tip
Of my tongue
Like a word waiting to be.
I feel it in me:
As deep as dark red;
Near like navy blue.
If I reach out I can stroke
The embers of memory;
Warm myself
Till morning.



Blogger Woodworm said...

Ah - Talk of dreams :)

Very Very good

4:26 am  
Blogger wooaaooww said...

very nice :)

10:03 am  
Blogger sensiblystoned said...

Dusting the cobwebs of numerous stowed away memories take place in the realm of the subconsciousness and dreams. Quite the most peaceful time of the day to reflect upon. Nice poem.

Very interesting opinions you make in your posts. Hard arguments you make. Makes interesting reading.

From a chauvinist for long :)

12:24 am  
Blogger m. said...

woodworm, wooaaooww :thanks! will tell her..

sensiblystoned - hehe...thanks and welcome to blah :-)

9:07 am  

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