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How so--no comments? This poem inquires about the courage to create, and
asks if the artist is actually up to it. How does one find what matters
most--in a way that doesn't bring destruction by way of the search? In the
end, it is the whole person who must search, along with all who have come
before. A goal or desire of the moment won't do. And in the end, the merely
personal is destined to be turned under like the stubble in a field, in the
path of the harrow.
Daryl Scroggins from United States