The wind
is everywhere
the petals scatter
through a frozen web
still
yet moving the same
a fluttering of red confetti
drifting with each breeze as
the rose becomes
the wind.

Hard to believe that I wrote this so-called poem almost twenty-five years ago. Not bad for a naive kid who way back then was convinced that he would become a future-famous philosopher poet someday. The bizarre element is that the feelings which are evoked by this piece echo not only how I felt at the time but how I am feeling now as well. Not bad. Hard to believe.