Silently she almost hung
with a noose about her neck.
Grimy grating behind her contact lens,
the salt amid the wet.
Sometimes amid the sunshine
and in whispers of the dark,
the netted dreams of aeons
weave tighter -
the nooses long forgotten
in shallow pools of doubt.
They wreck, they tangle
capture the flailing source
of hope. They twist and jeer
and torture --- drown me
in the night.
© Eleanor Clark
25 July 2013
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