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We all have our own Nessie.


Mine if you could believe it --
and I don’t expect you to --
blazes like the sun
and can set cities on fire,
but is much too kind
to do so, of course,
(well, mostly),


Mine speaks in a thousand
languages but chooses
to converse only in nonsense,


Mine has been
bubbling and troubling and doubling
from its first breath,
from day to day and year to year
poking fun at my fears,


Mine has been laughed at, mocked,
cattle prodded, and glocked,
and even rocked … gently,
like a baby …
and on some rare occasions
applauded and lauded,


I have given up on, fought for,
sought out, rediscovered,
struggled against, shaped with, stomped on,
punched out, pulled at, cursed at,
and, of course, lamented,
and, yes … I tried to slay mine.


But my Nessie lives
and will still live
and shall live always
whether you,
celebrated scientists,
the vast multitudes
or Wikipedia wants to
believe in it … or not.


Don’t believe me?
You should.
Because you have a Nessie too …
Pick a night, a particular evening
when the moon seems more
like a projection than a celestial body,
and then cast your gaze downward
and look deep in the lake of your soul
and you’ll see Nessie -- not mine --
but yours … your beautiful monster.