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with eyes closed

I am placed

onto a stage in motion

each night

and I dance

in and out

of danger

or ecstasy,

a puppet,

dangling in a familiar world,

not there

by my consent.

Of what origin

is this script

I recite

while I thrash about?

Who tugs the strings

in this land

of lostness

and consequence?

It is, I think,

the soul, so amused,

as it prepares me

for the trials of tomorrow.

- by Lyman Ditson


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