she followed through till the end.
In the mouth of a hundred teeth she tarried
searched desperately for a friend.
in the gullet of stone, first so cold then so warm
searching, not destined to find.
In her sleep she would toss in her life she was churned
up in that awful stomach’s grind.
It seems some of us are not fated to come
to come out of this nightmare alive.
Does it mean if our bodies are chewed, crushed, spat out
that our spirits will not then survive?
Do we count ourselves to be more victims of chance
victims of mischance fallen foul?
Or may struggle relentless against woeful odds
lead to somebody freeing their soul?