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Coward
“Coward” Iambic Pentameter-Metrical Poetry Workshop 2002 Her bright safe haven should be haunted but Warm sun breaks through the cold attic window And over her bruised face onto the stairs. Her best friend, though not real, once lived there with The ghosts and dreams she had not yet foreseen. No one knows she hides there—those steps of loss. The hurt is fresh with agony, anger. His cowardly grace keeps her awake nights. She cries and thinks he could not have hurt her. Not again, she thought she’d be happy then. Disclaimer: I loathe writing metrical poetry. I did the best I could, but wasn’t really happy with anything I wrote…
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Cancer and Five Old Clocks
“Cancer and Five Old Clocks” Rhythmic Stanzaic Poetry, Poetry Workshop 2002 I’d rather wash clothes, scrub a dirty floor, Than sit here waiting, looking out my door. To wait takes time that I may not reclaim. Waste whisks away with only one to blame. I sit and think. Not having time to die Does not ensure no pain. I want to lie, Be bored, regret, complain, and not be scared. I’ll ask God “Why?” Hell, how could He have dared? Cancer, I feel alone. I should not wait, Lying in bed while my loved ones create New stories to distract me from dying. I’d rather hear anything but crying. Instead…
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Faith
“Faith” Free verse poetry, Poetry Workshop 2002 She might have lost her faith in God that night Had life’s stopped heart not started again when She cried and beat her fists upon his chest. Liquor—the silent, killing distraction That screwed his mind—left him dying, gasping. Her heart of needles continued to beat, But with each beat, bad thoughts and blood would clash And clot and send rotting acidic waves To her stomach: cancerous ulcer and death. She has time for neither. The life she had Chased died before she knew. She found the ghost Of his memory—the man who could have died Without her pleading prayers and tears. He lived, But…