Thoughts on Friday morning, 1837 Inspiration, the great incision in the soul bodie, lingers like a wound in the side of the mind; so much more when inspiration converges near the limits of perceived reality. Will we ever come to see That only courage grows tomorrow? Mind opens the gates of time And flies the eagle's soar Into the space beyond limits of our agreed reality. Tenets of the past-- romantic, spiritual stewards of the weave-- spring up as markers, (pray end up as understanding) helping to divulge new identity in a vast quanta of unique opportunity. There is the urge that will not be ceased: To bring the forward back to the existing. Reaching up to the heavens, we bring insight to its test. Our science, our commerce, our effort, merely to launch our timid rationality. Ah, the restraint of practical reason coupled to the liberty of a dignified mind: an infinite wedge.