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His hands
Clenched fists
Strike his taut steel features.
Pain?
Frustration!
Why won't it come?
Papers rustle
Pens scribble
Faces glance at speeding clock hands -
Panic!
In opposite corners they sit,
Calm pools amongst
Raging
Tossing
Storms of emotion;
They have finished,
They don't panic any more -
The corners of refuge for sanity.
Who will have done the best?
Who has the talent?
Who will thank God?
Will people be praised or teased?
No longer panic but questions,
Enigmas,
Running round their heads;
Dancing.
One by one more pools of calm break free.
The time is coming;
Will the room be full of cool running water by the end?
Or, will the rapids,
White water,
Continue?
Will people pour from a prison or a holiday camp?
Laugh
Or cry,
But don't admit defeat
Ever...
Calm reigns.



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natf
Nat S Ford
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