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Thursday, April 23, 2015

Opening Night

Where did they go,
those poems created
before the written word?
Did they, like dreams,
fade in their fragility and
simply fall away?

Where did it go,
the first poem,
before the keeping of things?
Was it remembered
only as long as
its creator’s last breath?

Where did they end up,
the first poets,
before there was history?
Were they merely left to die alone,
in their solitude, their reverie,
monuments to the mind’s eye?

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