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Post by thatboweryman on Sept 11, 2006 14:32:25 GMT -5
Such feats of awe in dreams are found That life itself seems old and done; A whispering breath beneath the crowd Or drowning voices out at sea, Amidst the flagging tempest’s flail Without a ship, we ship-less sail From crest to trough and up again A splash of salt our only change To cool the blood and tempers rage. So listless must we stay until Still stagnation’s release arrives And gentle reverie invokes The feats of awe and off we go To climb the mountains of the mind Or swim amongst the dreadful waves, Where terror reigns a fickle throne And death’s next step is never known.
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