for marie

as she cradled
her head while her black
locks fell across her onyx
optics marie pondered
what it would be like to scribe
a poem beyond compare
one that would reinforce
bonded love between
worlds — where not only
pain is obsolete
but anger
and oblivion
are no longer present
a utopian galaxy
consumed with infinite
peace — the type of tranquility
one feels as they are finally
able to properly breathe
out their personal
gauntlet — one that captured
the essence of the purest
white light — not a horrific
illuminated death but one
that induces the rawest
unpolished version
of what it means
to genuinely
feel joy   

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