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Scars scattered on my skin,
Pain storming deep within,
Yet, I am proud to say,
I'm a survivor;

Catcalls are a norm,
Yet I don't wish to conform,
To the societal rules,
Because I'm a survivor;

I've seen life at its worst,
I've been through so much that I could burst,
But I won't let them be satisfied,
Because I'm a survivor;

They say I'm alone,
They think I am prone,
To fall into the shadows called depression;
Oh I'm a survivor;

They say I'm a poor child,
They say I'll run away wild;
But I won't do anything as such,
Because I'm a survivor;

They say I'm sugary sweet,
They say I'm a sheep that'll bleat;
Oh they are sadly mistaken,
Because I'm a survivor;

To you, I may look like harmless,
To you, I may look characterless,
But I'm a fighter through and through;
Life'***** me with a lot of punches,
But you must remember, my darling,
I'm a survivor;

I don't know,
Whether I'm high or am I low,
What matters the most is,
I'm a survivor;
The beat and the sound,
I see her in the arms of someone else

The beat and the sound,
The blurring lights were enough to catch my eye

The beat and the sound,
I'll never be the blues and greens of your body

The beat and the sound,
It's all the same, over and over again.
as i wander this city alone
wiping the sweat of my brow
and see the dust and grime
on my kerchief as i wipe my face

the mind it seems to be distant
sees your eyes and smile
feels your warm hand
and aches for your light kisses

the loud noises here
the soot filled air
its just the body here
as my soul is with you there

the day passes too slow
and the nights dont let me know
time teases me with its two hands
making me wait for your love
the higher you climb
the greater the pressure.

those who manage to
endure
learn
that the distance
between the
top and the
bottom
is
obscenely
great.

and those who
succeed
know
this secret:
there isn't
one.
when Whitman wrote, "I sing the body electric"

I know what he
meant
I know what he
wanted:

to be completely alive every moment
in spite of the inevitable.

we can't cheat death but we can make it
work so hard
that when it does take
us

it will have known a victory just as
perfect as
ours.
from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.

one flies
off.
then
another.

one is left,
then
it too
is gone.

my typewriter is
tombstone
still.

and I am
reduced to bird
watching.

just thought I'd
let you
know,
******.
 Apr 2015 Christopher Lowe
Arth
For the fallen are my friends,
And the living are cursed in misery.
What greater expression
Of selfless love could be shown?
What greater love
Could ever be known?

The sinless for the sinner
On the cross to die
Loving even those
That screamed "CRUCIFY!"

Not to mention the scourging
That before took place
Beaten so badly
You'd hardly recognize His face

But death couldn't hold Him
As He came forth from the grave
For those who believe
To eternally save

I know many believe
This but a myth or fable
But not me my friends
For I know, my God is able!!
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