Tyranny Takes Many Forms

Wide brims of light blind a corpulent
matron.  She has only ever seen receding
snatches of the cyclical punishment–needy
but resentful–attached to her coattails.  She
dreams–often–floating freely through a
sea of checkered lanterns to discover a
new (and better) dwelling.

Contracts are finite.
Attachments, not yet severed.

It is, perhaps, the suffering children clinging
to her hem, who make the brightness so
unbearable.

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