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Different Cinders
Pitetr-Patter
her feet flew,
going to one side, to the other
never stopping for a rest
She never resigns
Her hands roughed
Her face toughen
Her mouth pursed tightly
Her fingers finishing quickly
Moving to the next everlasting chore
on her unforgetable list
Consider this she'd scream
if only she'd be heard
The only sound audible though
her feet flying hurriedly
to room to room
broom in calloused hand
handkerchief in other
wiping the tears and cinders from her ashen face
The beast awaening from the paused sound of pattering feet
Her worse nightmare washing over her in a shadow
But in her fright she held the broom
ran straight, not caring anymore
thrusted the broom into the doom
the beast falling still
As if her were frozen
the life behind her eyes brighten
the shadow fell
the room lighten two shades
the sorrow she borrowd washed away
leaving only her ashen face and calloused hands as a reminder
of what a inside demon can do
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I worte this piece when I felt like I was a slave. I realized that it was my own self making it seem like this.