While crying, some of the punishment washed away.
Some of the anger turned outward
And, as it was fire, it shed some light.
This is a lot, isn’t it?
A reasonable, long-silent voice asked, sounding sad.
A lot?
It is, I suppose. It’s my lot.
Like anyone else’s lot, it counts.
Yes. This is a lot.
Standing up amongst the rubble,
I feel something begin.
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