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Batter my heart, three-personed God; for you
As yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend;
That I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend
Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
I, like an usurped town, to another due,
Labor to admit you, but O, to no end;
Reason, your viceroy in me, me should defend,
but is captived, and proves weak or untrue.
yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain,
But am betrothed unto your enemy.
Divorce me, untie or break that knot again;
Take me to you, imprison me, for I,
Except you enthrall me, never shall be free,
Nor even chaste, except you ravish me.
This is my play's last scene; here heavens appoint
My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race,
Idly, yet quickly run, hath this last pace,
My span's last inch, my minute's latest point;
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint
My body and my soul, and I shall sleep a space;
But my'ever-waking part shall see that face
Whose fear already shakes my every joint.
Then, as my soul to'heaven, her first seat, takes flight,
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell,
So fall my sins, that all may have their right,
To where they'are bred, and would press me, to hell.
Impute me righteous, thus purg'd of evil,
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil.
Southern wind, Southern wind
Take me with you
I want to go
At the bend of that village
Where my heart has fallen.

I fell in love with
the golden paddy field
I fell in love with
the pond side surrounded by water lilies
I fell in love with
the moonlight wet playground
I fell in love with
the colorful village market.

When the sun goes down
Grandmothers start their stories
Fireflies burn in the bamboo garden
The jute field yields gold
Seeing this beautiful panorama
My heart exhaled.

Southern wind, Southern wind
Take me with you
I want to go
At the bend of that village
Where my heart has fallen.
The wind, he said, is lost
laughter.
Breathe it in and glory
in the joy it brings
in the forgotten smiles
of another age
and make your home.

The wind, he said, is dispelled
tears.
Let it in and as it meets your eyes
it will cool and condense,
re-creating past sadness,
distilling until the salt stings
with ancient lost glories.
I have looked
Into the face
Of a real-life
Monster

He came into view
When I could
Stare
No longer

I tried to catch him
Flinch,
But when he cringed
I pondered…

I have looked
Into the face
Of a real-life
Monster

.
Inspired by all the times I stared at myself in the mirror as a kid...and all the times I've avoided "looking in the mirror" as an adult.

"We have seen the enemy, and he is us"
 Aug 2021 Alyssa Underwood
Crow
Are the leaves of autumn less glorious than spring
Does the sun shine less brightly past noon
Is night’s cloak less adorned or illumined
By the light of a full harvest moon

Has the sea lost its romance and mystery
Since man first beheld the shore
Have the stars in the heavens given up their fire
Do we long for their wonder no more

Is the game at its midpoint determined
Is intermission the end of the play
Is the vision of the sculptor truly revealed
In the unfinished half molded clay

Is a woman in full flower less alluring
Than a girl in the first bloom of life
Is the naïve young maiden more enticing
Than the woman who is mother and wife

No familiarity need not breed contempt
And beauty is not coupled to youth
For the woman who has lived, in all that she is
Reveals this magnificent truth
 Aug 2021 Alyssa Underwood
Crow
we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections
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