Spirit (an acrostic poem)

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She looked into the night sky and pondered her place.

Perhaps she was just a gathering of dust on a rocky mote flying through emptiness.

It made her feel small and insignificant,

Refuse of exploded suns long since forgotten in the cosmic background.

If that was it, well, that was still pretty cool.

The fact that her ancestors were ancient suns lightened her soul, and her smile lit up the night.

Pickpocket (an acrostic poem)

Passerby contribute to my well being

It warms the cockles of my sooty heart

Catching wild wallets, harvesting random rings

Keeping the richest, releasing the too poor

People might think I’m a thief

Only they couldn’t be farther from the truth

Culling the slow and the dull from their possessions

Karma dictates I do my part for the universe

Entrusting me to mete out cosmic balance

To add to my bank balance

 

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