Writing is my last hurrah; the stuff of dreams.

It is the way to mark my path as I wander through life,

Hoping to find a bit of stardust on some familiar road,

Mocking my fears with the heart of a trailblazer.

What I conceive through thought is my final breath;

An outstretched hand seeking a savior at the last moment

Before I sink into anonymity and self-regret.

A way to see another sunrise through the eyes of a stranger.

My words take flight through new eyes, new minds, new souls.

They are electrical blips that are born as a pulse,

And turn quickly to rationale by hearts not yet formed;

By souls not yet burdened by the chaos of earth-bound matters.

What is on my mind now will gather momentum with age.

And no matter the time or place – the vision or circumstance,

The thought shall go on, pure and unfettered in this world,

In search of a brotherly addendum; a continuity in space.

© 1997 FP Maddlone