The door, held aloft
By translucent hands,
Thin as death
Shaking with the strain
Deep hollowed chasms
Stare blankly
From the ebony shawl
That envelops and consumes
The creased face
Scars of sorrow and worry
Leave gaping furrows
In cheeks; downturned lips
In an eternal grimace
Hold no door
Your frail shoulders
Strain under secret
Burdens placed thereon
And can hold no more.
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