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    When you get to ground zero,
     When you get to the point when you're at a zero
    So, after thirty, he'll pick up his soul on the stray wall
     The cruel inventory: you may change but seldom! 
    He striveth in his twofold solitude
     To arrange its fragments in the expanding Time. 
    These thoughts have seared my flesh
     - So publicly abused by others, when 
    I left myself with intent.

    I was unworthy of this foolish earthly existence,
     for I could hardly find myself. 
    In a world always inquiring and inquiring 
    With my mind I was trampled to the ground, 
    and often with tears and begging... 
    With eyes of Golgotha within myself
     I cherished suicidal thoughts. 
    Perhaps I should have given up for good
     this vile, pathetic towel. 
    In my hesitant, Sisyphus-believing
     I became a hesitating man 
    - while that childish, protesting self
     ...often overcame my brain, 
    and while it can but drum and drum
     more and more rabidly, 
    my heart, with denials sometimes divided. 
    I will be true to him: chubby is lovable, 
    free and thoughtful, 
    always unselfish in his care of detail.

    Here I am past thirty 
    And I'm still searching for my place. 
    I deliberately try to keep it to myself, 
    to see which 
    The man who is a wicked fool, 
    or evil when he opens his doors wide
     of the vile insidiousness, 
    Which once was as much as for a bounty
     I have walked in handcuffs - 
    the candle-light of honour seldom
     If it shone in truth-telling eyes. 

    And like a fallible, pitiful bee
     I would wander with petal-stricken prayer
     to my dear flower, 
    that may keep it for me. 
    Her steadfast chalice of tenderness. 
    - In my hand still I faithfully keep her friendly 
    of friendly handshakes: 
    I wonder if I can still trust
     after all these decades?! 
    Whom meek Time has made so forgetful
     and severed 
    - Would I still trust their loyalty 
    In their subordinate and meek trust. 

    My desires a curious one, 
    But a child of pious age
     And my ideals, for that very reason, shall never fade! 


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