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The Fury Of Gods Goodbye

 One day He 
tipped His top hat 
and walked 
out of the room, 
ending the argument.
He stomped off saying: I don't give guarantees.
I was left quite alone using up the darkness I rolled up my sweater, up in a ball, and took it to bed with me, a kind of stand-in for God, that washerwoman who walks out when you're clean but not ironed.
When I woke up the sweater had turned to bricks of gold.
I'd won the world but like a forsaken explorer, I'd lost my map.

Poem by Anne Sexton
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