Stroke of Fortune

bang on the midnight hour she woke from her terror suffocating her eyes popped out of orbital spheres nerves exposed and dangling tears in front of the truth not that long ago she had danced in moonshines of joy bells and whistles attached to silken colourful dreams now her lullaby had become an epitaph of surrender she clutched at the straw in the coffin and inhaled one last breath filled her lungs and screamed as if to loosen the nails of the casket for one final time one of which clawed its way into her frontal lobe she could smell earthworms and scented pastoral voices almost slipped on the marble of the polished grave stone the straw tasted of raspberry sorbet and whipped cream self-flagellation removed the sour icing on the last cake and she stroked the cotton cloth with her calloused hands transcended a highway to heaven and took leave of her fear a crowd of bigoted mourners took flight and ate their words when she offered no retribution but unconditional kindness her nightmare’s clarity offered a way to step out of the pit the pendulum of self-incrimination pierced moribund scares at the stroke of midnight the sunrise welcomed a new dawn