Ages

silent breeze
swept past my eyes
how long have I been asleep
the leaves turned
cinnamon-brown
the grass grows limp
the skies seeping with grey clouds
where have I been
that my world has died
around me?

Whispers carry
on the wind
my thoughts are clouded
if I am to reach
a story's end
then I need to see the world
as children do.
Can I look out these tired eyes
and see your face
in the morning sun?

 1/18/04  G.R.T.