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RUNNING INTO DARKNESS
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Weeping, I ran from the house;
it was the first thing written
by the door: Dante.
I jogged past my life,
sometimes sprinted,
kept pace watched
at the roadside,
the path itself was straight.
Saw on the left, hills
that looked up as old soldiers regret.
Came closer to what I had thought:
a field obscured from the road
and through a gap,
a white horse stood
as ambition had done.
Proud, curious for a moment,
it put its head down to graze
in pastures green and decorated.
Starting to rain, the breeze
spoke to me as if sent.
Only now shall I run faster
into the darkness that bore me
on a track getting me lost,
in unkept places where light
is absent and friends
could not show their tears
as descent began
and candles remained unlit.
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