Foggier than winter, most,
my knee aches each step taken.
Bolder and higher I realize rise,
my pain tears and dips in.
Tighter and closer my lungs are becoming,
I see what is false light through the thicket.
But a dream this was before,
it is tangible in the fourth and seemingly otherwise in the eleventh dimension, only.
[Perhaps its me]
Loosened and freed,
pained and ached away,
two blue birds and a white rabbit stand still in center.
The white is most ominous behind them,
false it is not I now believe.
Melody is sprung from one and across to the other,
the harmonies are layered with pristine tones.
The white is grand and big,
the thicket of the fog is narrowing and dissolving.
Love is tender and hardy.
A man's statement,
it is mine; forever and regrettably only in time.
James C. Grantinberg, Diary 1942, Late and Great
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