I stare up at the power lines
And see nothing beyond this.
Nothing puts us in scale,
Reveals the beauty in black pines,
Or proves that there, of course, is
Bounds upon the blackness.
A finish line, an end in sight,
Anything at all to remind,
This six league boy of hope.
Something long past all the hype,
Wayward children lost in their minds,
Of things that were not lost,
but unfound.
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