Emerging Proud
I wish that my story were an archetypal tale of awakening and success, like ‘Camelot’ (a name designating the contemporary Welsh town of ‘Caerleon’; where I was once committed), ending in the slaying of the dragon and a hero’s homecoming to his rightful throne. Alas, my own story is more fitting for troubadours who dwell less on romance, and more on sheer penury; but even then, without the clear cut ending that might at least give the wan tale its mythic resonance.– no tragic, sudden demise, but rather long drawn out, tortuous thwarting of the bloom of youth serving only to truncate and mediocre the otherwise hilly peaks, rather than to give them relief by way of the equally necessary valleys, cascaded with rivers of sweet sorrowful and cathartic tears only to enhance the grandeur of their eventual triumph. More cenotaph than cynosure, I cannot claim to be an avatar for others; I am more a warning of the way not to travel. Yet for those who have the ‘subtle fingers for nuances’, a
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