Pillow (an acrostic poem)

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Plowing and sowing the world of sleep

It was hard work, but he was a farmer to his soul

Little furrows stretched to the horizon containing the roots of fertile dreams and scream-inducing nightmares

Lying there, waiting to be harvested

Once he was ready and picked them, Morbius would pay him handsomely for this crop

Wait till the slumbering humans were served these delectables!

Secrets (an acrostic poem)

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She wanted to bare her essence, her soul

Embracing her truth before setting it free into the world

Cauterizing the cuts those words caused by her clutching them so desperately tight

Releasing them would allow so much healing to enter

Except she just couldn’t do it.  She screamed as she hugged them tighter

The idea of giving up her truth and being naked, of needing to find a new truth

She would be an open window, an empty container, a person without value, a woman without …

Novel (an acrostic poem)

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No way he would ever get all those words down on paper

Obviously, he had bitten off more than he could chew

Vowing that after he was done he would never even touch a word processor

Every letter was a struggle as he tried to download his soul onto the paper

Long months later he typed ‘The End.’  That was when he realized his work had just begun!

Store (an acrostic poem)

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Selling pieces of his soul was the only way he could get ahead
They were not large pieces, but they all added up
Outside everything was fine, but inside, the echoes of who he had been became a cacophony
Relegating his self-worth into moral bankruptcy
Eventually, he ran out of product, closed up shop, and faded from memory

Fear (an acrostic poem)

Finding the darkness settling into his soul

Everything began to slow except his heartbeat

Animalistic screams escaped his tightening throat

Reaching up on tiptoes toward the full moon the transformation was complete

Lottery (an acrostic poem)

Living day to day, depending on his luck for sustenance

Orbiting his need for money and his need to be creative

The two pulling in opposite directions, their tidal forces ripping him apart

Today was a day where art and hunger went hand in hand as he painted

Every ounce of his imagination was placed on the canvas stroke by stroke

Revealing a mixture of magic and his soul, bound in sweat and paint

Yet it didn’t sell, leaving him destitute and feeling like he lost at life

Heal (an acrostic poem)

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His heart was shattered into shards that stabbed his soul and made it bleed

Every day he tried to put one or two more pieces back together as best he could

And some days his heart broke more than he fixed it, yet overall

Living slowly got better, forever different, but better

Atlas (an acrostic poem)

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All of Jessie’s life could be seen in the lines engraved into his face

They told of the many laughs and smiles, the tears and anger, written throughout the years  

Looking in the mirror, he reminisced a life lived hard

As he traced those wrinkles, he wondered about the upcoming Botox injection and smoothing it all over

Soul searching if he really wanted to lose that history…  Jessie left with his map intact

Soul (an acrostic poem)

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Sold that ratty old thing on the black market

Of course they didn’t realize what they were getting

Until they took possession.  Buyers beware.

Leaving my red haired head, cracked halo, and broken black wings one PlayStation 5 richer.

Moss (an acrostic poem)

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Maybe the rolling stone wasn’t that great after all

Only by finding a quiet, still place can you put down some roots

Soul-nourishing peace grounding away the pent-up anxious energy

Soaking in patience waiting for the right stone to come