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The march of the poet begins the moment he sees the first light of day,
the waltz of the hopeful commences the instant he leaves his sanctuary
and dances to the tune the world loves to play.
The pilgrimage of the inspired starts the second he hears the call of his intended temple;
the quest of the explorer invigorates with the thought that his journeys end may not be inevitable.

With every step that he takes he can feel a pull of great power attracting him like a magnet;
with every blink that he makes he feels like he is rushing towards something at the velocity of a high-speed jet.
With every beat of his heart he feels as if his own pulse is effecting others
and is causing people to orbit around him;
with every sound that he hears his imagination begins a metamorphosis,
and the people and the places of the world become his adrenalin.

When he finally reaches the cathedral of his muse the whole universe just falls away-
there is no sound, there is no people, there is just natures giants,
a poet, and a perfect day.

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