By F. H. Thurmond
When they wheeled the gurney
where I lay half dying
through a cold dark corridor
toward luminescent light
I thought of thresholds—
intimations of mortality
in the undiscovered country
of lost dreams.
The end of the beginning
of the end of being
in one place then another
or none where the wind blows
across wasteland voids
of eternal Lethe
or the uncertain beat
of an open heart.
F. H. Thurmond is an author, filmmaker and musician from Little Rock. He currently teaches writing and literature at UA-Little Rock and UA-Pulaski Technical College