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I scorn the sleepy lethe waters

which strive to abate my pains,

yet is the dissolution of pain

more valuable than frank lucidity?
The tincture taken leaves my wiring fused…

A low wattage affair-

a dim and distant light

lost in the ferment of fog!
Like an express train,

parked in a leafy siding,

forgotten in the dark forest,

I  long for the clear skies
Let real pain re-enter

my dulled and limpid body.

Let lucid thought race

across my tortured synapses,

i will take up the mantle again

and fight the good fight!

copyright Dale Beck 2018


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