The Poet

.
She writes away the hard edges
and sinks into the ash
Ancient gods wrestle with her mind
Playful muses keep
sleepy eyelids
from falling on the day.
Her pen cast thin  shadows
in the pale lit room
A mad woman she is
using pen to shovel the day
into a notebook;
.
to believe...
if she never sleeps
nights velvet blanket
will keep her safe,
past time of mourning

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