They told him,

‘You are more than good enough.’ They said,

You are worthy

of your own acceptance’. Belief in those words

sated him, and his vacant heart, but

it lay in wait, that

 

skittish horse, invisible, universal,

always walking

in front of him, reins tied

to ropes

to his stomach, knots loose, dictated by

his heart, connected

to that skittish horse.

 

Time passes, his heart filled,

dreams and reality

poured in, a concoction unheard of,

unique,

rare,

real; the change sent unguarded vibrations

down the line, it bolted, that mare,

and those ropes stretched taut,

those knots tightened, pulling him

through lives and places,

hearts and minds,

ruination to him.

 

Yet whispers of words calmed it,

stopped it,

and the hands of those words

untied those knots, as he struggled

to stand and survey

the wreckage in his wake.

Heartbreak awaiting, guilt

abiding, he turns and witnesses

the intangible carnage, defeated utterly.

 

They told him,

‘You are more than good enough.’ They said, ‘

You are worthy

of your own acceptance.’

 

They lied.

 

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