© June 26, 1980 -- Revised July 24, 2007
Write Naturally Publishing House
...a division of VAN Enterprises

The night wind blows across the field
Playing a mournful tune.
It's breeze has scattered the flowers about
And steals dirt from the mound.

I look about me but see nothing;
Only total darkness on all sides.
I reach out to touch my world
And encounter its soft walls.

Peaceful existence that this is,
I sense a wrongness somehow.
If I as I was, have ceased to be,
Then how can I, as I am, be?