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On love
I've heard that hope is a thing with feathers
but no one told me it sometimes morphs
into a vulture, eating away at well-made
decisions and gorging on self-protecting
promises, ultimately leaving the soul
vulnerable to what it had faced before.
I've heard that hope perches in the soul
but no one told me it sometimes digs
its claws in, leaving gaping holes when
it is gone that may heal but leave
scars, reminders of hope and its
irrevocable damage to a delicate soul.
