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They loved to call her Shadow
Blending in, with foreign sands
Dressed in black, she is darkness
Sharpened sword, held in her hand

She fights the voices, defiantly
They speak evil, to her mind
Wicked thoughts, aplenty
Still, she seeks, until she finds

Wisps of dust, twirling round her
In this place, behind the moon
She watches them create this world
Made up of endless dunes

Trapped inside the sands of time
Caught, in a lasting drought
Shadow returns to her darkness
In the valley of her doubt




April Writing Prompt:  Spacing out in shadows doubt – Day 4/30

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