Was my drinking, <br />What I fondly call <br />My disease, <br />A dam blocking <br />A river of words? <br />They do <br />Seem <br />To come faster <br />And clearer now. <br />Is it just a <br />Deep dark lake <br />Released and rushing <br />Out <br />Leaving a muddy bottom, <br />Littered with stumps and trash, <br />To dry in the hot summer sun? <br />Or will it reveal <br />Some hidden spring <br />Flowing on forever <br />Pure water sparkling in the sun <br />Forming small dark pools <br />Here and there <br />Feeding parched arid lands? <br /> <br />8/6/05<br /><br />Richard Quinby<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-question-4/
