Inklings [sonnet]

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inkings

I chased you down through barren tracts of time
although your name I no more could recall.
Some strange fragmented memories sublime
were mingled full with passion’s rise and fall.

If there is truth in inklings vaguely known
that parted were we by some tragic fate
while in another world where we had flown
then we must not revisit that estate.

For though we meet on history’s heavy wings
which waft with air so thick with ancient pains
another chance our present meeting brings
so we may now break free from astral chains.

If we to this our hearts can wholly give
then we will soar to heights superlative.
© 2011, Alan Morrison

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