Random Thoughts Poem by Steve Whitson

Autumn winds brushing upon the pane like leaves upon a porch

Swirling and dancing their song of life

Days grow short and time stills like limpid pools of water in the deep cavern of our lives

We breathe as one rushing to peak as lovers; holding each other as if the moon would fall, the sun could die

We are all fragile in our own way. All meant to be together as one yet somehow impossibly alone.

(-2008)