In dissipated anger,
the thoughts were cut and fell,
as frozen locks of misery;
reminder of my hell.
In grey, sure-suited sitting,
I stared upon my life,
and held the strands of helplessness;
the broken threads of strife.
They scattered on the floor of pain,
in spread and creep of grace,
as crucified upon the chair,
I found my broken place.
It was an offering to life,
a gift to faceless death,
and in the wanton scattering,
I saw the shape of Self.
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