Thinking late into the night,
Sometimes till morning light,
Rushing from word to idea, seeing
Past numbers and mere feeling.
Connecting the dots
Creates even more.
Now, and there,
Sure only of myself -- and aware.
In each dream the hero’s fall
And rising tells all.
Careful, ponderous, and solemn thought;
Stretching, searching, communing: Taught.
Scott L. Vanatter, 3 June 2008 (This is a second lesser version of a poem written yesterday. Further editing occurred in mid-July 2008, then again in mid-August.)
NOTE: The original poem was lost into nothingness when I attempted to click the Save button. Misery, pain, and woe. When the screen went blank: total disbelief. Then there was much distress, pain, and anger. After a while, I gradually allowed a grudging acceptance. Now, after the recreation attempt, a measure of peace.