The Fractal Journal
Integrative Analysis
Late (Poem)
Always
Stringy just stretching
Way too thin
Reaching
Way too far
Searching
For the guiding warmth from some distant star
Ever on the horizon
Never within grip
Always it lies on
Some surface from which it’s too easy to slip
So the muscles they tense and they strain
Just for a radar blip
The burning of sinew and brain
Now it is late
And I find no respite
Nothing will sate
The thirst for the light
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