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By Desmond Rutherford

So show me,




The thought,

Of never living,

Never was,

Never known,

Never being,

Never missed,

Yet always,


Makes us,


As lost,

Or latent,

The feeling

Of anything,


But never nothing.

In our unknowable,


We love.
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I like your use of the word, "Missing," which can mean lost, failing to connect, or longing for, particularly as a whole line. The plasticity and ambiguity of the English language makes it superior tool for poetry. Thanks for posting this.

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Thanks bi_janus,

You're interpretation of "Missing" is just what I was aiming for. I agree, English serves the poet well.

I must confess, until you posted your poetry, I never quite saw the benefit of single words as a whole line. Thank you for opening my eyes.

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Well, some say we are a gene's way of replicating itself. Meaningless self-delusion to think we are anything more than a sperm in a stream of semen, and in our case, a stream to nowhere.

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