Marshall Chapter of the Missouri Writers' Guild
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No one is here, no explorer has come near

The yellowed book is still here

My fingers sketch each mountain, each landscape, my eyes have not seen

The ridges that grace my skin are like the borders of the nearby places I have not been

Although the earth and stars seem near, the need to conquer is unclear

Although I yearn to see what makes up glaciers and galaxies

My working fingers will not reveal what is behind me

My robes limit me from turning but not from learning

Though I wish to look beyond my desk, it is a luxury too complex

My spirit like that of a caged bird, continues to sing a sad melody

I, too important, impatiently wait, for the ideal explorer to put my mind at bay

However, all too soon the sun does set; I am left alone and upset

The blue loneliness washes my face of all color and fate

Like the hue of the ocean, my feeling the same

Except the ocean I know not what shade

But blue is what I color on the south corner of my page

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