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The Thief

Rain pounds,
restless and unrelenting, like the thoughts
of the troubled soul with her face pressed
against the window, watching the world
Roar
and rage and the rain is dry
And the lightning roars and the thunder flashes.
Nothing makes sense and she can’t take it
any longer.

None can soothe the restless but
the one who makes it so.
But that one is gone, gone with the wind,
Gone, and he took the music.

Rain pounds,
inexorable and violent, on the face
of the troubled soul with her head bowed
Grieving
in front of the remains of the thief.
He took the music with him and she wants it back.
It all makes sense and she can’t take it
but she holds on.





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