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The Pit
By Steven Searcy
I am afraid
to even see
the tragedy—
the mess I’ve made.
Rage, greed, pride, doubt—
from my heart’s store,
all these and more
come spewing out.
I am the pit
I’m in—dark, dank,
cold. Who can yank
me out of it?
One hand can plumb
these depths. When all
is lost, I call—
he said he’d come!