Christmas Present

I have the belief that I will be out by Christmas. 

A belief that stills my suffering. 

A hollow wind speaks to me. 

Slipping in through an open door. 

That shuts before I can stare into the free world. 

Someday soon- 

I will be pushed out those doors.

Into the cold. 

Leaving behind uncertainty.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

Poem

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