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A stumbling block, all her own,
tumbling towards rock bottom,
yet home, in way of head o’er heels,
the only place for two left feet, named evil and sinister,
to dance the night away,
her time in the spotlight,
perhaps even another prodigal path,
ultimately to bid that final farewell
and rest among stardom.
Her ashes to be expelled by tears
and thunders of a father raped about
in that same vicious circle of life,
destruction and chaos.

There was an eternal feast.
She had fetched her pail of ice water
as ointment to wash her feet
and to rinse the sweat from her brow into wine
in this ritual of holiness.

The draw was irresistible
with forces greater than good
  stronger than evil,
  more timeless than love
with her depths warming from frigid void
to fires of fulfillment.

Those last miles bear stretch marks to forever,
like a pot never boiling with a stare.
Still, like a Zen master she danced
through his rock garden and past
the flicker-red of lamppost

onto the porch, by the door
with its dew-moist blue mat,
bidding “Welcome” to night travelers,
though off limits to wayward sisters.

“Perhaps this once,” she thought.
She shifted her weight
to stumble that last time.

Father mourned
glorious rage.
All of men beheld her beauty
with awe.

The quickening tremors of the land
were fired from her mistake;
the failing hearts of men to break
in falling reprimand.

(written for DversePoets, with Kelvin prompting us to use idioms)

(note: clues to the meaning are in the tags, if one was inclined to look)

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