Heist (an acrostic poem)

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How many souls could she steal before the moon reached full?

Each one a jewel in her crown as a master thief

It was why she found herself in this pub drinking a warm beer

So many people here she could work her trade upon

The only problem they all had already had their souls stolen by their job, sport, or vice

Track (an acrostic poem)

 

The rat race isn’t getting any easier

Running as fast as you can in circles

And all you can hope for is some crappy medal

Consider what would happen if you tried a different sport?

Kick off those tired sneakers and grab a javelin?

 

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