Sentinel Poetry Magazine January 2003

Visions

I am deaf
Dumb,
To the taunts of ancient bulwarks.
I move
Like quicksilver
Over distant fogs to magnificent Everest
Under rays of solitude
I bask,
And bring forth my harvests
My destined lane
Rough and narrow
Enchants.
But..
I hold on
To the Godhead skirt,
To lead
Me to ..
Glory
O golden street
My ultimate vision.