Susan Wray

Rookie (April / Pa)

Finally Free

The dawn of morn is nowhere near
In slow motion, her head hits the pillows of a bed
The shapes of the windows are no longer what they had appeared
The room is cold and she is dead

Her death is yet the fortune to a greater place
With forceful winds that pull her out of her shell
But what her spirit sees appears to overtake
She can no longer feel, she can no longer speak, she’s under a spell

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