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Spirit
by Janet Granger

It was the darkest part of winter's night, when
no one is awake and even the stars are dim.
I had been crying so long and so hard that my eyes throbbed,
swollen in sorrow, and
I was breathless from hours of grief.
I was nearing the end, my head spinning.

I did not know how I could go on,

It appeared from the window, behind me.
I felt it's aura.
I did not turn my head, afraid at what I would
or would not
see.
It hovered, waiting.
I did not move.

Slowly, it asked, "What is wrong? Show me."
I revealed the gaping chasm in my soul,
a crater blasted out by a bomb,
wide and deep and cold.

Gently,
it moved up behind me,
a bulldozer filling in the grave,
replenishing the soil.
The earth rolled in softly, evenly, until I was level again.
"There now," it said,
"And you will never be so empty again."

I could feel the smooth ground.
All was right.
I was whole again, saved
for the last time.

Without my knowing, it had slipped away,
never to return.

I slept.




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Document last modified on: 02/15/1997

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