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Lulu Jun 16
It has eight thin and spiky legs
That crawl so speedily up the wall.
It spins it shiny sticky threads
As it quickly shifts them all.

There are eight sticks on my back
Pressing into my skin.
Their weight is a stack
That makes the sweat of nerve begin.

It is immobile, it doesn’t move,
Just rests like an open backpack filled
With explosives ready. It won’t remove
It’s body from me, leaving me chilled.

I turn on my side and the crawler is gone,
It didn’t fall off or creep away,
Just disappeared. It’s dark and I yawn,
Realising my thoughts betray.
I was half awake when I had a strange sensation that I had a dead spider on my back the size of a backpack.
Afreen Jun 13
The sun blares upon me,
as I gather my fruits
from the tree of life.
My body aches and
perspires and I go on,
picking them for my future.
The gloom of this mundane,
sets into my mind,
as I toil in the heat.
I yearn for the rain,
to come and cleanse
me of this toil
and let me enjoy,
the fruits.
we go about gathering things all our life yet don't feel satisfied.
Ishudhi Dahal May 10
The more you get hydrated
The more I flow
I am only the one
Who starts from your head
Goes through nose
And settles in your mouth -
If lips are open ;
If not
Touching the edge
down your chin
Feeling the throat-beat
Covering your chest
I perch in navel  
I am sweet for those
who earn me by burning
Maybe sour to em
Who make by looting
make me roll isn’t easy
make me do so
majority of em run for gyms
Hardly any shovels and heaps
There’s my attendance
In presence of hammer or tongs
Or in conclusion of any decisions  
When yelling **** and bull story
Or while you forget to clear the history ;
I flow and I flow again feeling your body
Making you feel , to feel some air ,
Compelling you to off your hoodie
I am in love and in hate
I am sweat !
Copyright © IshudhiDahal
Jo Apr 30
the wind is hitting my face
my heart is beating so fast out of my chest
i’m trying to catch my breath
i have sweat running down my spine all the way down to my legs

the waves are splashing me
more water on my damp body
can’t tell what is sweat and what is salt water

but i’m running and i’m running
by the beach
listening to my favorite music
going along with the beat

tell me,
what else am i supposed to feel except for freeness?
Sanctuary at Dawn
by Michael R. Burch

I have walked these thirteen miles
just to stand outside your door.
The rain has dogged my footsteps
for thirteen miles, for thirty years,
through the monsoon seasons ...
and now my tears
have all been washed away.

Through thirteen miles of rain I slogged,
I stumbled and I climbed
rainslickened slopes
that led me home
to the hope that I might find
a life I lived before.

The door is wet; my cheeks are wet,
but not with rain or tears ...
as I knock I sweat
and the raining seems
the rhythm of the years.

Now you stand outlined in the doorway
—a man as large as I left—
and with bated breath
I take a step
into the accusing light.

Your eyes are grayer
than I remembered;
your hair is grayer, too.
As the red rust runs
down the dripping drains,
our voices exclaim—

"My father!"
"My son!"

NOTE: “Sanctuary at Dawn” was written either in high school or during my first two years of college. Keywords/Tags: father, son, conflict, reconciliation, storm, rain, tears, sweat, mud, slog, downpour, flood
Niki Gray Mar 26
Inspired,
guts required
sweat,blood and tears
racing heart masking fear.
Relentless desire to be the best me,
leave a legacy of resiliency.
Enjoy, thank you for reading.  Shout out to everyone I care about.  Stay healthy.
lua Mar 23
ang pawis na tumutulo sa aking pisngi
tumutulo sa aking mukha
tuwing kumakanta
sa ilalim ng tinding init ng araw
hinihintay ang sikat ng buwan sa gabi
at nananaginip habang gising.
When one
Transfers
The pain
Into the Power

The relaxed one
Starts
To pray

Trust
The journey
Genre: Inspirational
Theme: Cycle of karma
Author's Note: And you will be happy then after
Chandler M Feb 15
Weep in the sun
All will think
It's nothing but necessary sweat
Beading from moist eyes
Even when the sun goes down
The sweat moves
Down like a river
From a vision lens
Relied on
Bhill Feb 7
Who
enormous and graceful hands reached out
hands glistening with sweat and pain
pain from years of hard and intense toil
searching the world for his one authentic desire
the desire to save me....
me, the one item in his life that did not need saving
who is he to think that
who am I to refuse

Brian Hill - 2020 # 38
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