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The fear is not of something new
but “can the mind absorb it?”.
Like helpless dreams, a tension bout,
this fear’s control, to lose it.


Is this where the phobics herd,
who dare not stand nor face it,
and call me rude, a geek or nerd,
if I declare to ride it?


And so I climb the higher path,
accelerating self.
Peacock faces worry up,
huddle. But I’ve done it. I know:


I’ve learnt the new technology,
uncared those sneering weenies.
I turn my back and grin the dawn.
I’m Gawain. They are the was.      >


© dylan harris





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