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The One Single Thing
In a soft feather pillow lies one single needle.
Nestled in down
Unnoticed,
Uncalled for.
It stays still, absolutely still, most every day.
Poison-tip stagnant
Dormant,
Yet scheming.
Then one day the innocent lays head down to rest
Smiling at Mother
Closing eyes,
Asleep.
In the morning she awakes cheek pricked
A tiny red dot
Revenge taken,
Retaliation.
For the one single needle that nobody noticed
Like the many small things that nobody notices
Was the one single thing
That eventually hurt.
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I was inspired to write this piece because I realized that often it is the things we do not notice at first that come back to haunt us later in life.