Wordle #207

The vale ossifies.

My voiceless eyes well with tears

sharp as pine needles.

A summit of pain

my heart shimmers, mirror-grey

and ineffable.

My bruised ego sinks

on reflection, wet-black boot

extended skyward.

I swing back and forth,

ropes tearing at my ankles,

an in-human scythe.

A walk across fields

of stars, a dream-given

change of perspective.

This poem was influence by The Hanged Man image on tarot cards.

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