Stubborn feet walk the plank--
hot coals which burn the souls,
of feet and crave the pane--
from windowed glass.
Ouch,
I whisper.
Tears drench my face,
as they cascade--
from the plateau which are
mine eyes,
down to my feet.
Sssss...
the coals reply.
The symphony which plays
songs of farewell.
To this impassioned child
I bore, but now--
give away.
I run away.
Looking,
forward.
Only forward.
It still burns.
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