And When...

Soul Poetry



And when did it turn
to this?
Becoming a shadow
lurking at my back-
my every scream.


I never looked behind,
but could feel, nonetheless,
such hotness
of bated breath
tempering my skin,
to perspiring dread.


At my loss-point,
I shifted,
became disenchanted
by all this,


Yet, forward still,
I traveled,
lest backroads
took me
farther away
from my tomorrow.


Nothing became
my goal
and everything
became my will-
a need to survive...


And when
did 'this'
become so very hard,
even the laughter,
I so feared?



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