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Fowlling a path

Trees blocking the sun

tightly bounded

tethering you to darkness

The ground a labyrinth

leading you to your demise

The road is worn

So beaten that it dips to a fa slope

Dragging you, pulling you, taking advantage of your fall

Leading you to unacabible demise

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You flail, grasping for light

You grab for branches

But the lack of light makes them fragile and break

You reach for the root of the large tree

the ones the can reach the light

the ones that have fertile soil

you find a root, and are pulled into light

pulled into the sons watchful gaze

© 2021 Victoria Sawyer

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