September 6, 98
Poem --
The Journey Home

As I listen to the wind ,
Blowing softly through my hair.
Whispering its little secrets
Telling its little lies.
As I walk through halls of great buildings
Hearing the echo of my footsteps.
Silence is their reply
to the questions that I ask.
As I dream in my bed at night
Caught in the embrace of my blanket.
Remembering lost sleep and
the dreams that could have been.
As I wake to yet another day
Thinking that it may be my last.
Hope keeps the darkness away
and friends make hope come to pass.
- by Peter Lim Choy

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September 6, 98 Poem -- The Journey Home
	As I listen to the wind , Blowing softly through my hair. Whispering its little secrets Telling its little lies. As I walk through halls of great buildings Hearing the echo of my footsteps. Silence is their reply to the questions that I ask. As I dream in my bed at night Caught in the embrace of my blanket. Remembering lost sleep and the dreams that could have been. As I wake to yet another day Thinking that it may be my last. Hope keeps the darkness away and friends make hope come to pass. - by Peter Lim Choy