Monday, March 14, 2011


The grace in her eyes
And the bells ‘round her feet
Ragged stare
A longing
deep breath
But the cost just wasn’t enough
to verify
or vilify
the step it would take
But her weight
And she followed her  through
An empty space
No color
No window
Just a sense
Things would change
The gypsy led the march
Up a staircase drenched in white
A right
Of passage
To drain the ashes
Gone to stone within her veins
As they stopped
At the top
Gypsy pushed the wall into a room
just as vacant and colorless.
Two footprints
marked with mud
stared from the blank boards at their feet
They faced the floor
Blind in the sweltering light
“This is the mark of a life
left behind.”

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