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Gray...
October 29, 2009
It’s not the melancholy gloom
depicted in paintings;
it is a quiet, meditative rest.
A fog-shrouded meadow where sits
one man in the dancing autumn mist,
the shrieks of civilization quieted.
The pointed finger of societal criticism
lowered for a tranquil moment.
Just a man and his mind, together at last,
in solitude—where a man can be himself
and hush the affectation of companionship.
It is a man in his ultimate ecstasy.
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