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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Ultimate Somewhere

I have failed,
but it is my way to fail.
To put wings on backward.
Misspell words.
Get lost on roads.
Disappoint teachers.
Bungle recipes.
Small failures.
Like dripping faucets
annoying but functional.

The failure I speak of
is none of that.
It is a quality with no place
I know.
That longs to be created.
A dream not dreamed yet.
A faith not found.
A country I must find
if I am ever to be happy and complete.

Where things exist because
they must exist,
for being beautiful,
for being true.
Where nakedness is cloth
worn by the real.
Where there is no addition
or subtraction,
but only centers.

Where a face is beautiful
because it belongs to itself.
Where birth is ultimate goodness.
And being there
in that country,
everything is seacoast,
every life lives its dream,
and there is nothing
that loses itself or regrets itself,
and diaries are composed of poetry

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