I feel the heavy pull-- the drag
towards self, the cling of false ownership.
I watch as I try to gather wood before
the snowstorm--with splintered, bleeding arms,
I surrender not to the sweet death
the blizzard offers. A severe mercy comes
sweeping through the air; a mercy that craves
and licks loss. I should have known at the start
that God wouldn't let this grip live.
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