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  • Perhaps the poem is not in the inspiration
    but the perspiration
    of the writing
    and rewriting
    words and sentences
    until the essences
    of meanings
    and gleanings
    are revealed,
    that once concealed
    in the mundane
    and profane
    repetition
    comes to fruition
    in the juxtaposition
    of the well turned phrase,
    well focused gaze,
    amid the haze
    of everyday existence,
    the momentary presence
    of clarity
    and sincerity
    that quickly fades
    as life pervades,
    returning thoughts and focus
    to what we call sanity.


    Fred
    © March 5, 2014

    Music: Tea House Moon by Enya from the album The Memory of Trees - 1995
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