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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield


Once the rain is determined,
it will fall.
Physics is only about desire.
The world makes love
between its stones.
Seasons cross the equator.
There is a smell in the wind
when spring comes.
A call to arms,
to sire life,
to call strangers
in the voices of the air.
All beauty is necessity,

This strange specie
that wakes in the morning,
in a few thousand years
astonishes oblivion,
and may disappear
quickly as it came,
laughing like a girl teasing.
Time, with the aroma of grapes
exploding with the triumph
of summer’s god.

We drink its potion,
fly into space
from a mountain’s bluff,
pushing at nothing
except the zenith.
What a wondrous death
to hold joy,
coursing through our veins,
and impossible,
waiting for its turn.

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