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"Sometimes I Tire Along The Path" (by Joe DiMino) Sometimes I tire along the path Colors not bright As they once were; Shapes in my hands Turning to water, Dribbling to indifferent earth Her reply to everything The same stale belch The temptation Is to believe That I have been lied to By some great Oz Behind a celestial curtain, The cloak all traditional Illusionists wear Pulling levers, Howling through a megaphone In control, Freewill a plural-delusion I pray For even a little star to follow, For a Bethlehem And a manger Search amidst straw For lost gleam of light: we see through a glass darkly A voice surfaces, That of the Dynamic Paul, Parting the veil, Grasping hold of my trembling hand Firmly lifting me