Onward and forward, into confession
Looking to answers, for my quiet obsession
Night always ends with one more page written
Without teeth or marks, how was I bitten
Mine is not to question, nor to ask why
Only to understand, while lifted so high
The mind may go places, some will never know
Places of secret, for the special to go
To journey and travel deep into thought
Re-living feelings the memory brought
Memories of time spent too quick and fast
Actions and energies of a yesterday now past
Moments empty and nothing to some
For them the touch of magic is forever numb
They do not see what is really there
Poor, foolish souls, who show no care
Deborah Cromer
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/calling-17/
