Sunday, January 4, 2009


Standing in the wind,
Cold winds blow,
Isolated, Alone,
No one will know.

Prepared for a blizzard,
Disrobing, one by one,
Chiding myself,
For stopping before I’m done.

The storm is silent,
silent but extant,
Not destructive,
but in the hunt.

Running from fear,
Shapeless and dark,
Into the light,
faces, stark.

Realization swells,
blowing away the storm,
creating a new life,
Imbibing a new form.

On the wall of the well,
Looking down so I can see,
The darkness that once was me,
Me, before I was set free.

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