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Beyond the grill Is a place that I do not recognise Only sometimes in the night I feel a strange lull And an unmistakeable cord Binding me To something, or someone, or some place… I think I knew it once – Light has meaning there And shadows bestow cold comfort Rustles are interpreted As swaying trees And moans as the sound Of the wandering breeze. And if an elusive perfume Wafts in to hover Indeterminately In this place called a room, I resist. What else would I have myself do? I believe I am a small step away Yet a small step closer To finding out – what? Maybe I do not know I am finding it… They call it the seventh sense.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things