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well, sir, why don't you admit there's no more left in you: no will to overcome hardships, no strength of mind, no desire to go on. Today you walked along the black keokaha coast - and what did you find? Only your weary self - confused, resigned. and what did [[strikethrough]] you find along [[/strikethrough]] that stretch of lava coast say to you? Nothing. The waves broke over the crags - that was all. No more awe, no more wonder, no delight, no inspiration. there were only memories of great days in the past when you gained strength from the wind and the sea and the land. 
Are you lost, sir? or are you dying the terrible death of the poet who has no more to say because he no longer feels?