Different Cinders

November 7, 2017
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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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