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My Prison
My house was my prison
Small and hellish-hot
I yearned for my freedom
The storm went and bought
As I gazed outside
The trees danced and sparkled
The wind whispered gently
At this storm I now marveled
So I escaped into my wonderland
For not more than a moment
When I realized this storm
Was more of a torrent
Though light and pure
The snow burdened me
The wind, though it whispered
Tore into me
My hands felt no longer
Just hung from my arms
My eyes forced out tears
Though I cared for them not
Now I ran toward my prison
Inviting and warm
My wonderland vision
Was now something I scorned
The storm was my warden
And though I contest
It is it, not my prison
That puts me in distress
But spring will soon free me
Until then I wait
For I know I can’t stop
These types of attacks
And like all of life’s storms
This storm will too pass
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