I had written something a few years ago, that I had thought about today. It was a little poem that I actually ended up hosting a socratic dialogue session on. I had really liked it, and in a way to satisfy my own ego, I wanted to see what other’s thought about it, or what conclusions they made.

I had made my own when writing it, and in some ways, I felt about a dozen things, each articulate and varied in their own way, while I wrote my little poem. Someone I love very dearly asked me what it was about, and I gave them the answer, but I knew it wasn’t the whole piece. When I was writing it I’m not sure I knew the whole of what I felt.

Yet as I was reading it again, I could make about another dozen assessments of what the words meant, and of what I was feeling as I wrote it. In some ways, it strikes me with a number of emotions I felt a year ago but perhaps didn’t recognize that I was feeling them. I look at it, and there are memories, but also new ways of seeing it, things I hadn’t seen even when writing.

Now, before I make infinite references to a poem without allowing others’ to read it, I’ll hyperlink it here for anyone and everyone’s viewing. I hope you can enjoy, and find things that even the writer of the text can’t see. If anything, I hope you can see something for yourself, as with all art, literature or life, I hope you see what you seek.


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