F. Jason Whitaker
Writer
Dream Again
Constant is the rhythm
in my head,
read like verse
of a poem.
Thought pouring out
like a fountain,
never running dry,
just not as wet sometime.
Words form,
creeks of words
become oceans
of novels
waiting to be read.
Can I put these words to page?
The hour is late
and I want to dream again…
