hear my cries listen to the whispers,
from this dusty mind,
watch the limits i bare,
to cross,
strip the words from once i spoke,
to the last vowel,
the sight i seek.
is in my reach,
just outside,
my control,
but in my heart,
the day will come,
when the palm,
will touch,
the last post,
and the past,
is far behind,
for the last time
Sharron Stephenson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-dusty-sight/
