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To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, To the last syllable of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player, That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. -The Worthily Beloved William Shakespeare

Sunday, April 4, 2010

Inspired

For you, the world hesitated,
to absorb all you inspirited.
Bewildering how full of charm,
your beauty, eloquence did me alarm.

The face, teeming with delightfully divine enchantment,
illicited in me an emotionally ecstatic enhancement.

I plunged into thought so very deep,
and your illumination into me did seep.
Opened my eyes became
To the beauty of the unclaimed,
the free, the most untame,
the ones who behold the firiest flame.

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