Traveling Into Solitude - Poem by James McLain
There are the few, then there are the
Rest of them.
Chatter boxes, bipolar manic woman, that men
Try to excape from.
Those that are men over here are of course put,
Into jails or prisons.
The magic of silence,
For the blessed few are able to dream any dream
Night or day
And prearrange the out come of what they dream, while
Wide awake before going to bed.
Without the preconceived notion of very hard work, to
Obtain the solution,
To each master piece, each work of art, even the words
That to most can't conceive.
For those few that have come they have not the ability,
To put up with the rest that make useless noise.
Precognition, remote viewing, complex math the writing of music,
The ability to master in a brief period of time
Most cerebral disciplines that take the rest fovever to learn,
If they are blessed with that special genetic material.
Because for most that can travel into solitude, creates within
That unnatural fear,
The fear that most have of living and dying alone.
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