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(Poem) Eidelons - VIII

VIII.

Poetry is life in a capsule
insulated from time
it grows

Once freed, it spreads like fog
obscuring Now

Covering everything in times gone by
times to come

Times we wish were now
or know
and hope will never come



Reality so distilled would
shock our systems

And so, we are contented
to have but a taste of what
we would have/would have not

Be now.

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