A SPACE FOR THOUGHT;A DYING TOUCH
I sit in a room thinking Looking out at the unseen horizon Picking up from where I had left the day before The cool wind upon my face, is no more It no longer pleases me,I am no longer thinking But the wind blows and blows I see it unable to fathom its intangibility A murmur , a crowd, they sing along A thought , a lonely whisper, I am dying to hear A dream to live, a touch to feel A touch I wont feel, no more I am, not me,no more...............