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Fingers,
like some charcoal dead branches,
rise from the ebony goo
filled with my suppressed rage,
pulling me into
a maelstrom
from dead forebear’s tales.
The light,
that inevitable cruel reality,
spills my consciousness
into reminders
of how some honeyed
flickering hand of providence
doled fortune to others.
I prevail in my
cauldron of scalding tears
practicing deafness
towards the ancestral voices
haunting me with,
"I told you so’s."
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