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Waking Nightmares

I have waking nightmares
That it's too late,
That I'm too far ,
That I've murdered the poetry
Which was being born inside me.
I search everywhere I go
Looking for its remnants,
Not knowing the point in time
Or the place where it was lost.
I wonder sometimes
If a glance from your eyes
Or a word from your lips
Or even a prayer
From the hidden chambers of your heart
Might bring it flooding back into my soul.
The language which I fear is now lost,
The verse which eased my suffering,
The inky hope
Of a young man at twenty-one
Staring out over the Pacific Ocean,
Has slowly melted away into oblivion,
Dissolved in noise, and filth, and inaction.
This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

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