Stepping Through Glass

July 18, 2011
Slowly, slowly her eyes will raise
afraid of what she’ll see
in that mere instance where fate is reality
breaking that cold, hard surface

she wonders then
if she can make it
can face the world in front
can scream into maternal arms
and run through their silhouettes.

Her will lashes graze protective lids
and feel her heart cool
slower
slower
it shall reach depths
too frigid
too somber to release

Her breath will make birth
meek smoke as its emerges
just to hear her life succumb
carefully, delicately fading

to that world she had too far prolonged
that bled and wept inside her
decaying her amble vim

Until the crash awakens her
and saves her from the water
for moments only more
until the waves finally engulf
her empty, crumbling zeal.





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