But I am a prisoner to
my past and plot my
escape in black vacuity

I hold this precious
time in my hands and
let it sift through
bony fingers

while I dream of
breaking free
to being

of singing the
truest song of
all the ages

as if tomorrow
depended on the
crystal sound of
my voice

But I would have
to press my face
against the sky
and leave its
impression
on blue heaven

to break the bonds
of this oblivion

and enter the space
of living once more

©6/26/99