for

I’m going, I’m doing, I’m moving
and moving
and moving
until...
something flies.

Is it me?

And I can’t help but wonder what time means
And what it’s telling me to not do or do
For within the hands of the hours and minutes
and seconds
Between the lines that connect
dot to dot, place to place
Between the shadows of drops of rain
Lies the uncertainty
Of days not lived
Or days not yet lived?
But to be
As only whole
but not free
...yet.
I’m still waiting

For You.

Copyright Mallery January 2003