what waits the dark

Start at the end for
your beginning she said,
start there, the words
thrown backwards
will melt into the sorrowful
notes that sing the night
where what you thought
was real became undone
the isolation and quiet walls,
the canvas for the story
boxes of your journals
from so long ago, hidden
what waits the dark, the corners
of the room shadowing
under the desk calls,
a promise given,
stones crying,
the story lingering,
awaits day.

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