
The soul in exile
it seems as it were,
keeps no friends or foes
but a myriad of words
weaved into a tapestry
of stories live to tell
with a spark of spirit
at the thrilled touch
thrust in passionβs flame
aroused from the buried
detritus of memories bygone
and the fire that has gone
ablaze with the delirium
of delight in the magic
of the words she has found
keeps burning the dark
reigning in her glass castle.

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