By Tom H. Brooks 3

Introducing STREET JOURNAL 67…

A special one-entry-only edition…

A man sits alone beneath a tree
with sunlight filtering down
through the branches
He gets in touch with 
his deepest, innermost thoughts
He sits poised above a blank page
A page white as the driven snow
A page waiting for something 
Like a universe waiting to be created
Holding its breath in anticipation
The tension builds
And then…
Words written in books
Words etched on walls
Words embedded in stones
Words buried in the earth
Thoughts twisting in 
tiny whirlwinds in a dusty field
Ideas lying dormant like a 
red wheelbarrow leaning against
an old farmer`s shack in a rice field
Words spoken
Words not spoken
Words never written
Stories never told
The thoughts that went
Words floating on a summer breeze 
across the sands of time
Words carved in stone in the 
boundless desert wasteland
Words rolling down the highway
Words in a roadhouse bar
Words in a glass of whiskey
Words swirling in blue cigarette smoke
Words floating through the mind like phantoms
Words lost in the labyrinth that is oneself
Words behind bars struggling to get out
Words painted in the majestic colors of a sunset
Words hovering at the edges of the clouds
Words etched into your mind as twilight falls
Words crashing in the roar of the waves
Words in the music of city streets
Words between the legs of a beautiful woman
Words lying in the gutter
Words creeping down dark night alleys
Words blowing down empty Sunday streets like trash
Words wrapped up like a gift
Words inscribed on the top of a mountain
Words flowing like a river through a valley
Words in the endless azure sky
Words in the music of the spheres
Words written on water
Words on the shoreline at low tide
Words in the song of a mockingbird
Words in the cryptic squawk of a raven
Words in the intricate geometry of a spider`s web
Words on a computer screen drifting through the matrix
Words laid out on emerald-green grass
Words like wind through the trees
Words fluttering like the wings of a butterfly
Words on the petals of a rare, blue flower
Words in the sunlight glistening through a
morning dew drop on a blade of grass
Words glittering on a quiet lake
Words falling down like a gentle rain
Words sparkling like distant stars
Words hanging from the corner of a crescent moon
these words whispering in the dark of night
these words softly spoken in a lonely room at the edge of the world
And now,
these words come to you
across space and time…
They`re yours…
Tom Brooks    THB3  
Miyota, Japan  11/20/12

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