March 15, 2008
By John Biche, Annapolis, MD

Sometimes, when the world seems to much,
And my inner demons have come out to play,
And in my life, I'm out of touch,
I find the need to go away.
And so, I slip to a secret place,
Not a place, but a state of mind,
It's a calm, collected, clearheaded space,
That few seek but all can find.
My closeted skeletons stop their rattle,
The sky any other color than gray,
My worries stop their useless prattle,
And all my clouds have gone away.
So follow a codex of blissful separation,
And you're on the way to fresh reparation.

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