“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…