The Inner Limits
Round about
And in and out of illusions
I trekked for a spell
Tracking words
Working thoughts unheard of
In search of higher meaning
That a pure-perfect vision
Might find its way across the desert
Of my discontent
Thus writing became my passion
My reason for living
My lover
Reams poured forth
Decades blinked by
Time imploded into ancient ritual
Discarded like sunburned skin
Peeled off a hidden body of work
Only the searing scorch of wisdom
Could reveal
John Christopher
OCT 2004
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