Older Poems from the Pen of Olan L. Smith

A Puff of Air

©1990, Olan L. Smith

Suffering from the vicious chill on a cold November afternoon

I strive for a vague dream that nears for me to grasp—

So close to becoming a reality, yet—it remains

Merely a delusion. Like a frozen vapor

It dissipates between my fingers

And it remnants like

A bitter zephyr,

A frigid mist.

I stand

Facing the horizon

Of self-fulfilling prophesy

And witness the sun setting in a blaze of red.

I can only hope for a radiant dawn to pilot my wayward soul.