Mark     Three hundred year old maps on my wall
Mark     Showing me pasts that never existed
cwg     a journey in the minds eye may be longer than existance
burr     Such a journey has surely persisted.
burr     A three hundred day old map in my hand
mark     Crisscrossed with creases, coffee and stains
cwg     Once known with emphatic precision
cwg     Faint visions of grandeur aspire to emprise
cwg     Now another's duty to destiny foretold by whom
cwg     Blearily gaze 'twixt twilight, eternity and grog to bide
cwg     A three hundred year old map in my gaze
Celeste     Holds a future untoward
     Averted, if by grace
mcj     I think I ate my shoelace.
cwg     merily troden by faith of being
cwg     With gaze upon troden ground
cwg     Once glanced upon midnight skeis
cwg     Once Been, Here Now, Nor Fortold
cwg     Greatness of Magesty may be
cwg     But visions of troden trials
cwg     Once, then twice, then what? but more...
cwg     Again a fleeting glance upon the midnight sky
cwg     But what faith brings this Vision to bear?
cwg     A map of eternity. Is this fortold?
cwg     Tis three hundred, tis thee thousand, tis more?
cwg     A three hundred year old map in my mind
cwg     Burdon of being bear heavinly fruit
     From whence thou cosmist thy surly belong
     Not now, but why be reality foretold
     Butdens born merely conatus depredate...
     Thunder born of great distress bears fruit
     Once past the unbearable thirst...
     Hast teston foretold least riven mere nekton once nor...
     Views of seas peaceful and calm
     Foretold nor addled may been measured
     But being now viewed as sun to be...
     Bight days, not nights of blighted being
     Withstanding durations of mighty bearing
     Hast one viewed a map of being foretold...
     Once visions of being hath become...
     Looking at a map on the wall...least foretold
cwg     Three hundred years of being oncetold
cwg     Bright visions of being foretold
     One's vision of early memory light
     Tis now nor fortold
     for one's being tis not fortold
     Everlasting hast been
     Now fortold...
     To be...but there more???
     One's vision...three hundred years past...
     Future foretold...
     A map tis a vision not more...
     But waite tis more?
     One's vision, tis, but what...
     Once found...but lost...
     To be found once more...
     Now once been...but fortold
     To be...hear there more?
     One's vision...three hundred years... now, nor past...
     Futures fortold...maps...visions...recent...distant
     Tis merilly once foretold
     Now risings of sun...Brightness of being
     Gleming visions of being now told
     Once been hath..but what?
CWG     Three Hundred Years of being, maps now told
CWG     Holdes a future untoward
     Averted, if by gace
     trecks of faith bear but what
     Decks of wood, pitch with fraught
     Rising suns naught to see
     Burdens born wince father espy
     Aft not more winst thou been
     For to be is fortold
     Visions of suns, to see
     Upon naught, but beaches viewed
     Wince thou been, reaches out
     For what vision be one tasked
     Hast thou been once fortold...
     But what where thou be viewed
     If naught once but trice then whence
     there but been wooden decks
     pitched upon forboden seas
     Even now one might be
     Driven down by visions seen
     But for skies viewed once more
     There tis naught stars to buide
     Over seas pitched with fright
     Ever inward driven more
     One hast but to bear
     Burdens great with imagined might
     Whence seas of calm bear but notions of naught
     Three hundred years of burdens born
     Of maps now have been fortold
     Creased with being not withheld
     Seas of distant ports now told
     By means of stars guided bright
     Maps of skies be Mithers or whim.
     Guided by great visions born
     There be but one gnome to rise above
     Once there been wooden decks to be
     Skies hath born creatures of seas
     Fear reaches bout but not found
     Fear reaches bout but not found
     For one's time is measured but why
     Be there more, one hast yet to see
     Rise above the troden path
     Yet to see creased paths once more.
     Now but what, one's vision found.
     Three Hundred Years naught but being. Three Three Hundred Y
     One's now found seen but where?
CWG     Seconds, minutes, hours, days, years hath been
     One's measure not withheld
     seas fraught with able myth
     Now seen, behold there be but where
     Able to withstand but what
     One's vision is now but blurred
     One within is not to be
     Without vision of prophet seen
     Heaving seas give way
     Mighty waves, visions to be not seen
     Look upon midnight skies
     From solid decks of workman's fright
     Least one's measure not be one's might
     Greatness once found, crowned but when
     Sparkled skies of vision's wealth
     Hath been naught but sweets foretold
     Broken bodies hath foretoled
     One's worth naught but salvaged soul
     Risings might wealth once hath been
     Measured gratitude humble hold
     Bent upon scorned knees of toil
     Vision upon midnight skies beg but what
CWG     Three hundred years of burdens borne
     Wrinkled within not withheld
     Hath one is, but what to be
     Vision being tis not more
     Once found is lost not been told
     For dreg found is not withheld
     Distance wrought for fears might have
     Simple being gone but sure
     Found one's stranger being within
CWG     Three hundred years of wrinkled being not told
CWG     Wreak one of able being for now hast been
     Thence naught of vision withheld
     Known form of one's formed brow
     Given upon signs of known doubt
     Look now upon mountainnous directions
     Known but what for whom
     Another for when denied not known
     Rise above look high, with eyes far seen
     Now one's being questioned by whom
     Worth is seen, is known, is felt, or not
     Being is now, when there is here
     When we be us, nor they be them
     Look upon trails of height
     Now a bent body felt by whom
     Broken determination, not know by when
     Able knowledge destined to search
     Whence what known, not found
     Climb upon social image
     Once upon bent knee
     Thy head lift with able knowledge
     Mount thee mighty step of wisp
     No able being of worthless sort
     Known by few but by more
     Known by few but by more
     Three hundred years of being what more
cpr     More of the world than I'll ever see
cpr     And yet imagine what lies before me
mcj     Unless it is obvious, like a tree
cwg     with limbs streached beyond what's known to be

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