The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. ~Vladimir Nabakov

Friday, July 11, 2008


Round and round,
round it goes,
tightly wound
like a budding rose.
Sitting on a horse
riding for years,
on but a course of
no worries and fears.
Spinning steady,
yet not too fast,
knowing for certain,
this ride won't last.
Though thrilling,
fun and joyous trip,
I hang on tight
with a deadly grip.
At last it slows,
head stops spinning,
the gamble rewards
abundant winning.
I pause with a look
to focus and see,
life still for a moment
I embrace with glee.

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