Turning Point

We left the place in disarray, a scrambling mob,

Those who pursued us could not get near,

But still we ran, screaming and calling

In sheer exuberance. Of life we were full

And the joy that overflowed was pure,

distilled, youthful ecstasy. Our energy could

Not be quieted by the rules imposed from without,

And it flowed in its restless stream along the streets.

Finally, we stopped running, a nervous thread,

The awareness of what had been carried out

Expressed through glances. No, nothing

Could ever be the same again

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