Cryptic comments
From voices from long ago
Not forgotten
But remote and hidden.
What is it that I cannot imagine
When all I have is my thoughts
Devoid of the stark stare of reality
Which cause Ideas to run rampant?
In that:
The idea alone drives me.
There is nothing but the idea.
Imagination drives it.
Because otherwise,
the faint, thin web of reality
Snaps
And there is nothing...
Nothing at all
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