A poem by Isabelle Sorrells

Soft and beautiful hands

Attached to arms

Clothed in fine linens and wool

Reach out from the dark.

They seem like the kind to promise happiness and pleasure.

And even though she was once in warm light

She was coaxed by the dark

And what it wanted her to see.

When she took hold of that hand

She was pulled into the black.

When looking into the light

The Dark filmed it over with gray,

And once true loving hands

Were forever blurred.

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