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Poem On Scrap Paper, Found In An Old Library Book

In Excerpts of Prose, NEW! on November 17, 2009 at 1:01 AM

A listless wandering can be heard late at night

voices tracing outlines

believing masterpieces exist within

Stumbling aimless

they search

Blindly

they search

And what they find

They’ll know when they see

It’s like trying to describe

A mind heightened by outside design

And they know they are lost

That they exist

Seemingly

Without purpose

They wander almost tragically

And they wander almost magically

With a silent acceptance

That they fight with violently

It’s their nature they fight against

Because they believe it is flawed

And it must be regimented

with secular laws

It must be structured

It must be paused

And so enthralled with this

singular purpose

They cannot realize

how it cloaks their greatest curse.

How can they not see

that what they seek desperately

exists within reach

exists above and beneath

And IT shouts at them constantly

without words

because it cannot conceive

something so restrictive.

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