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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

At Last to Wake

In the walks
my sleep takes,
I become lost,
as if
I am at the edge
of valleys
and I can’t fly.
Cannot leave
and go
where my wings
would take me.

My dreams
come to a door,
which can’t be opened.
To streets
with no place or end.

Then I wake,
or half wake,
and look into my room,
but not my home,
and linger for time’s sake.
A depot with a train
that never comes.
Then thankfully,
and the rescue,

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