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Words
8/20/95
The memory I hold dear to my heart
the sun, the trees,
the open places, the not so open places
and yet the words to discribe the way I feel
drifts away like a lone butterfly
that I cannot catch.
the moon behind clouds with its eery halo
must have seen people before who have
felt the same way I feel now
but even the moon cannot capture those
flying words
that escape the clutch of even the
most renouned poet.
I suppose that there are some things
that cannot be described
no matter how real it may be
but as for me, I will still strive to explain
the real feeling till it becomes real for
someone else.
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