Standing before her, I feel like Moses
Trying to part the Red Sea
In her eyes.
Behind me are all my unborn children
Heavily wrought with the slavery
Of nonexistence.
Alas, she holds onto her beauty
The way a lost man
Holds onto his nerve.
Not God, but my staff
Has failed.
She turns away so easily,
Leaving me and my people
To the mercy of Pharaoh
And his vengeful, recriminating horde.
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