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Authors Note:  I was hesitant to post this as it is spun from a very dark time.   I hope it causes no alarm for those who have been in a similar place or potential harm to those suffering as I write.  Be well.

Life, a puzzle, is her mind.

A storm brewed -ruminations,
day and night.
Knives to handle,
braced -the base of her neck.

Longing gaze
towards the kitchen window,
no coverings found
to hide -hollow eyes.

A braided rope
seductively slithered
around and through,
she thought to flee -no such place exists.

Like a gazelle, a lion in pursuit, she beat the odds. Survived.

The finality of the situation was not met with fanfare. No ticket-tape parade or confetti-induced speech. The affects were invisible to all but the discerning. Those who saw the glow in her sacred eyes met the mountains summit; those who reached, swore they touched the sky.

Poetry Soul Journal

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