Many years ago, I sat on a dock of a bay wasting time with a stranger and I found evidence of what I suspected all along. Were all connected. It doesn’t matter what color our skin is. It doesn’t matter what our religion is. It doesn’t matter where we grow up or even how. For the most part, all of us think the same and we all are good people.
And on a dock in St. Augustine, Florida, I met a stranger, he fished and we talked . . . He was from a much different life than I and his dialect depicted that. He fished to bring food to his table, most fishermen fish to bring food to their family’s tables. He talked and I listened . . . He told me of discriminations, lies and tragedy. He told me of his job, jail and of his family and their burdens. And I listened. As a writer, I’ve learned how to listen. I’ve learned how to feel, their pain.
Their stories; their dreams is why I write . . . They must be shared.
Sitting on a dock of a bay, wasting time . . .
Dreams are yours to Share
My Books: The World Outside My Window, AuthorHouse, 2004
Soon to come, Sleepless Nights
My Poetry at poemhunter.com
My Other Links: Dreams Are Yours To Share
Warriors and Wars
The Moon Also Rises
The World Outside My Window
This Side Of Midnight
Dan’s Room 2 Write
Copyright © 2007 by Dan Hanosh. All rights reserved.
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