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Possibly

what does the heart want more than to be known by she


where the spider's thread connects each end of the web


when every end breaks from each branch so connected


whom crawls inside the hollow home above the wicked


heart carved deeply into the knotted bark with the sharp


stone that cut the vine to free the feet and flow divine


to fly and in the hollow sleep, to dream, and find thyself


without questioning whom shall enter here and who shall


leave and will there be, yes, will there be, when everything


is left in the hands and all is placed at the feet, is my soul


enough for thee to believe, shall my love grant me peace


I shall rack my mind in ever torturous ways tearing at the


face in ever more torturous ways to sit in silence and every


day, in every way, question again what shall be and whether


or not anyone or anything, somewhere something, someday

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