Literature - Poem by James McLain
Loud smiths of silence and mighty the pen.
Mighty swords hence, I am spread as I finish.
Slow is the labor, carbon and lead, freed from chains.
Galatians from hence where I was brought up,
and nothing thus of it, is written to remain.
This from the dust as for reading my eyes,
and eyes are for reading, trust the dust.
There is no room at the inn, may I go as you come.
Romantic each word,
and the dance and from whence it all came.
Go and I ask this of you to satisfy thine mine heart.
There in the other the after place before there we go.
Imagination which loves all your tragedy, you endeavor,
therefore passing through it we all must come.
Finally you write with the pen, as I pass through the eye,
passing through the eye of eternity and eternity starts from whence.
Complaints do you have I would ask,
as you pass, let them all pass as we pass through, I dwell.
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