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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.
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