Friday, November 26, 2004

Flickers In Silence:

In a quiet small space,
Things that roar in the heart,
Something dream-like and ephemeral,
Still constant and ever-present,
A nuance in the atmosphere like a ghost unseen,
Felt in a word or a glance into the corner,
Lost in staring at the marks on the floor.

Will the world come through allright,
Or are the dreams only smoke,
Rolled up the chimney and blown away?


By: Daniel A. Stafford
(C) 11/19/2004