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The Stranger


The stranger slowly approaches.

Shadowy figure, he.

Weapon at the ready by his side.

His imminent threat arouses me.


Suddenly, he lunges at me,

Weapon drawn, held high in the air.

His intention is my ultimate demise,

To thrust the dagger into my flesh.


Do I remain steady and firm,

To fight against his approach?

Or shall I attempt to evade him,

Perhaps even run, preserving self?


My steps are quick and certain,

I have moved from his path,

Causing him to pass by me,

His balance lost, crashing down.


If I remain to fight my assailant,

I must also identify him.

For who would mean me harm,

Who would have the motive?


I brace as he rises to meet me,

He is coming into focus,

It is my first glimpse that reveals,

That my enemy is me.

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