NaPoWriMo 2017 2/30 

A little girl waits in an oak tree

like a pearl from the deepest sea.

She hears her call,

a bold buzzing,

drumming thoughts

a white noise humming.

The little deer through the years

riding through her fiery fears

she fought and sought

with all her might

dodging judgy worldly lights.

Battles won – she can count a few,

the mountain peak, it’s not far from view.

Yesterday’s fountain has run dry

the truth, bellows a Banshee cry

they cannot run. they cannot hide,

for all unjust will certainly die.

The little girl laughs from her tree,

the ones before whisper in the breeze.

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