West Poetry

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And Yet

And I stand, feet ready, on rail of boat,
On edge of roof, on toddlered limbs
To wonder: dare I wander through?
Place step into void untested yet
Or yet dare not and never step
Into firmament unfelt or wandered.
What use is man or poet to ponderers
Who’s never leapt beyond? What wisdom
Or folly may I yet bear back having not?
No, rather, I cannot but venture
Even if, as Dante did, I wander in
Scenes best unseen, like Milton in
Heresy and Aryan seem or worse, like
Blake into furthest field of insanity seemed.
To have seen is to seem insane whether
Having seen Angels in truth or not.
Yet to dream, I must, and I stand
Knowing, though fearing, I will yet on.


Concerning what is to come.