Digging in the Dirt

The pattern

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I find my way through
the tattered chasm of the mind
echoes dancing I can’t see
a heart that sits waiting
for the flame to catch

who walks through
the night’s fire without
getting burned
who asks the question
only to pull the rug
out from underneath

scattered to the winds of fate
waves wash over my feet
echoing the sounds
I used to hear

I wash my hands
only to find them
digging in the dirt
once more

Rhonda Skinner 2020