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Seanathon May 16
Just a blind man can have faith
In the firmness of world beneath his bed
So also will I believe in steadfastness of my God
And that I will arise anew each day
To begin again
For as long as he wishes
I am his
Mark Boschi Apr 3
i know him too well —
the sweaty palms
the wobbly knees
the trembling voice

he sits with me in therapy
scowls at me, clawing his nails into my arms
growls through gritted teeth:
“quit talking about me.”
and the floor tilts underneath.

i do not flinch/shrink/cower;
i remain firm/secure/composed
because now,
my tongue is an ammunition
i am no longer afraid to exhaust.
Day #4 of Escapril, prompt: anxiety.
Gale L Mccoy Jul 2018
the second i turn firm
im afraid its too harsh for you
when you bumped against me
did you bruise?
Nayana Nair Mar 2018
There are footsteps
drawn in rainwater
that float on the floor
that was once firm and solid
but now cracks under my every step.
The rain and storm
must have brought him here.
The never improving
weather of his heart.
Did he find what he came for?
How long he must have stood here?
Was it still raining when he left?
a Norwegian
fjord did
cut their
axel's hairpin
in the
row of
tundra that
Lapland was
their arcane
balloon on
Aegean shore
if Barents
Sea burgeoned
dialect herd
yelp in
Mike Pence
with accord.
a complement of three legs
kept the realm in a wobbly
to have had a fourth one
would give an upright

as this important limb
was missing in a forgotten
the locale disintegrated  
like a pan of moving

the domain being beset by
ills too many to
hence the citizens cried out
for another pole's

a trio of pegs weren't
stable nor
they did violently
shake minus the quads firm

sometime in the future
the whole thing might just
if a solid pin is attached
onto the
TheStartOfMyEnds Oct 2017
A floater
As my only life line
The only safe choice
Is to be patient
Despite being thrown into the mass
Of nothing but unpredictable waters
It is involuntary to keep my heart at bay
And never stop kicking

It is a given fact that
Everything will be so much easier
If I'd just drown
But what fun will that be?
I am too prideful to give up

And even at the end
If I am to meet unfavorable outcomes
I might trip
Everybody trips at one point
Question is...
Which of us will keep on standing?
Mystic904 Oct 2017
They were warriors!
They were conquerers!

Their innocence was their power
Faith in the unseen was their tower
They were stiff and brave
Facing those dangers grave
Fierce, bold, 60 in strength
Through the arab's length
Against 60 000, wasn't fair competition
Victory, Almighty's will is final decision

Nothing but death could undo them
Mountains would shiver before them
Loud majestic slogans filled with sheer belief
Their cruel battle wounds would bear relief

Extreme loyalty to the mercy of the world
The firm faith had their paths all pearled
All merciful and kind
Brotherhood had them bind

Closest of all to their master
Clenched tightly to the rope
Revived the prestigious chatter
Struck the hearts, rays of hope

Courageous, brave and bold
One enough to stun the enemy lines
Today, sword's in Umer's hold
Leave them drying, bottles of wines

When became, came with eyes the shame
Free heartedly gave away dinars in tons
For aware were they of secrets of the game
Amazed others with their attributes and stunts

Father of quotes, vast oceans of knowledge
Came to personal revenge, fell the spear
Spent sweat n blood for Truth's
Dark halls crippled, when slogans they'd hear
Spreaded love, devotion, examples of loyalty
No one is superior, turned to ashes royalty
Left others impressed by their decorum
Transformed the world for good in totality

_F.A Teeri
BE Twain May 2016
I work for Jones & Co.
You are likely somewhere down below,
I have grown used to this unnatural height.
Once, here, as a younger man, I read articles,
working on cases just long enough to cultivate indifference.
My first firm party, I was made to wear an ivy laurel.
We were mingling on the penthouse deck,
when a gust unceremoniously removed it from my head.

Jones is a superstitious man,
he has a dream-catcher above his office door.
He designed a vaulted spiral staircase on our fifty-first floor.
The one separates Jones from his company,
the other, us from below.
Five years of billing in six minute blocks,
labyrinthine increments, Herculean costs.
A kind of optic chiasma where the nerves cross and people get lost.

B.E. Twain
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