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I am cloaked.

Hidden, concealed.

Safe, I think, yet

noting that the hood obscures my sight, I lose my way.


I am cloaked.

Burdened, heavy.

Tangled in its layers,

my body twists and yields to its weight, like burly branches bent by April snow.


I am cloaked.

Duplicitous and sly.

Like Riding Hood’s companion,

a chameleon who shifts from shade to shade.


I am cloaked.

Weathered, worn,

yet wrapped in dancing sunlight,

a blazing fire melding sorrow, gold.


I am cloaked.

Radiant, alive.

Swathed in all that’s true...

Beauty, Love.



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