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No part of this poetry should be reproduced in any form without written consent from the author, Joe DiMino, who retains all rights: contact

"To Thine Own Self...." (by Joe DiMino)

After all these years of loving
Still—I cannot say what love is;
For the feelings that revive me,
(The death and birth biblical)
Those that I call good passion yet
Not so unlike demon possession
Which outside of love I would loath,
Here I not only refuse to name
And exonerate from any future ill
(Often the mortal seeking only
Higher spirit to blame)—
Vow contrary to blissfully inflame
(My obliterating game)
For non other leads to
Such fond light
The only I will ultimately accept
For my soul’s destination—
Fire’s transformative passage;

So I can say
Love and hate the twins—
And which no less no more
But the coin that I
Vehemently flip with
Stand on edge
Accepting the fall

As said Keats—
His immortal enigma:
“Beauty is truth – truth, beauty – that is all Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”
That’s all….

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