By dint of years of hope-filled work
Gone the concealing sludge of shame
Crystals of forbidden feelings
All linked by tendrils of distress
Lay in heaps in all directions
Around mounds of shame now revealed
Filigree gardens, spider's webs
Massive rocks of anger buttress
The cold columns of sadness
When cleared of jungle vines and slime
Failed to yield the hoped-for closure
Reached still yet beyond my vision
Down to which depths I did not know
Have I reached bedrock at long last?
Does such a thing even exist?
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