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"There Is My Special Time" by Joe DiMino

There is my special time,
When I awake with a start,
Not at all unpleasant
For I have trained
My internal clock,
For opportune moment,
When everything between heaven and hell is still,
And I can draw from high or low,
Lasso the muse to-and-fro,
Only myself and he or she or it between
The contrivance never shades
But crystal dark or sheen-

This sense of true alive
I am at loss to describe,
For truth can only be described with itself,
And one must be present and in truth to know
Or vaguely, and thus falsely show-

For the throb in me
Becomes a single focus-
A laser of attention;
And as a warrior
Risen to do battle
With might I take hold of my pen
And wheel a precise point into action.

Now I am creator and created-
Not entirely composed of where I came from
But a new work in the making;
Doing what I was never scripted to do;
Every drop of me in stream,
Flowing flowing flowing,
Down from misty heights I come arunning,
No longer a trickle
But a flood to be reckoned with,
All the tributaries in me
Diverging into one
Magnificent slam and smash;
Wide as valleys;
Walls with boulders hundreds of feet high
And millions of years old,
Powerless before the will of my form;
Prose or lyric, it doesn't matter;
The torrent is unstoppable-
Every tear in heaven of joy and sorrow,
Distilled for this one purpose only,
To deluge at my ready-