Pounding on the ground,
My feet that run-
They follow the path of hidden light
And beat against the drum.
I catch a glimpse of the road's end,
Beautiful death that beckons me-
A door so firm,
That stands of solid oak and ivy-
It whispers
Calling to me sweetly.
I taste the dirt
That drifts to my tongue,
Which sifts amongst the jostled trail-
Richer as I travel near.
Foot prints surround the floor.
I recognize them
As they lead me to the illuminating door.
Placed in all directions;
In indecisive patterns,
It seems that I've been here before.
Mischievous vines entrap its prey-
How their thorns dig deep
Into my skin,
Scolding me with familiar words.
Reeling in until I start to bend.
And then a thump
Of that bold sound,
Comes thundering through me
Like a drum.
My feet begin to pound
As I rip the venomous vines free,
Tethered no more to the depths of me.
I plunge forth at last,
The knob lie cold beneath my hand.
I give a turn
And let the light consume my darkest wounds,
That then eliminate their constant fright.
By: Rebekah Turney
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