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Journal for LorinaJournal for Lorina
Long ago and far away, where the light and shadow played.
finding the battle was easy to do, but the prize is only what is true.
the sticking point would always be, 1,2,6,9 and three.
primary without a doubt, much to late to return the scouts.
so they travel on with me, comfortable with the designs of eternity.
Now what do I do? not willing to leave the company of three of two.
A rational problem is it not my friend? the equation says to start at the contemplated end.
going payment at going rates, trouble always finds those who cannot wait.
patience is a virtue truth will say, but who am I to give the plot away.
the day is almost done you see, and we must be vigilant if we wish to be free.
truth alone sings that song, so be slow to anger in compassion strong.
the truth tells me this all the time, so translates the poets rhyme.
the path to hell with good intenions plied, but the path of good intentions is itself the one to decide.
truth says only truth will always win, but is winning the truth or the contamplated end?
That inspiration is coming back to me now.
that gentle light on my shoulders and my brow.
From fellow wanderers who share the mindful truth
they have beheld.
And whispering spirits of the reality from where they welled.
the last of these by the miserly have been despised.
But by this one are truly prized.
And the truth is spinning in my eyes.
because the light of hope sheds its grim disguise.
In the presence of the good the heartache flies.
That does not know its own good till the miserly dies.
What will be anyone can guess.
But the present time for this one is blessed.
I travel on to parts unknown.
The spirit\'s power has breathed and grown.
Hell bent for leather, but I fear the trap.
And bygone days have turned the tap.
The wind blows hard against the sail.
Lackluster and bewildered, a following sea prevails.
And another reality finds me riding the rails.
Long too long ago I was to see.
The shadow of misery following me.
How long will you tarry? the wailing wind cries in fury to me.
Till I find the truth that is calling out free.
freedom this is mine.
hell bent for leather and ghostly by design.
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