Tumult

Riding the wave
with increasing momentum.
Crashing, frothing, ebbing —
the tide carries her away.

Falling toward her love;
carried away from the truth —
That this crest was meant
to be ridden alone.

Solidarity not sought
but somehow found.
Again the creature of the night
prowls hungrily.

Seeking her fortune,
expecting  nothing but pain.
Bitterly abandoned,
she cries.

Reaching out,
her soul now weary.
Limping, screaming, dying…

she laughs.

– Vanja LaVoie

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