No rmal (regular mundane average life)

There’s nothing worse for a poet

Than to have no poem

But even darker still

Is a life with no desire

An existence with no burning fire

Long has it been quenched and calmed

Into a vicious and nasty state

Known as normal

It’s time to arise

It’s time to arise

To stretch out those broken wings to fly

(For how will you taste healing unless you fly again)

Feeling the winds of yearning begin to lift you up

To taste the sweet and bitter cup

Of the real and untamed and glorious Fire

Of the deep and haunting chalice of desire

Begin to dream again

Begin to call impossible friend

And watch him yield to the sight that is within you

Who makes all things new


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