French Doors Over Morn’s Moors

door in dusty room
swings open

and blasts sunshine thru
these achin’ x-ray
bones,

spring on the insides embody
lungs’ fresh n’ breezy
rush of free,

somewhere welcoming to hang
an anchored heart up and
just breathe,

for what passes as daytime
preens and flares up
as fearsome night,

shrinking to speck
in shadows born of
heart’s charged
light.

image: https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/200339883394805773/

image: https://www.pinterest.ca/pin/200339883394805773/

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