PUSH her down
the treads are there to walk on

PUSH her down
no cry of protest parts her lips

PUSH her down
taking glory in her struggle

PUSH her down
take it in.

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The Boxer

The boxer sat inside a room with a face already beaten.
Three fights had left the boxer stunned, confused; but not retreating.
Concussions, knuckles bloodied; kidney punches take their toll.
The boxer played a part in all; it was a starring role.

Those fights long gone, they left their mark.
The battles long since passed.
Did the boxer have the strength for four;
Or take a pass on this new match?

With a steady determination the boxer pranced up to the ring.
The ropes were slowly parted, it was time to do this thing.
The boxer faced the new opponent; looked deeply in his eyes.
Then the boxer dropped on to her knees letting out a strangled cry.

With no more strength to throw a punch, this boxer’s time was done.
She left the ring.
She had her day.
Her moment in the sun.

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Her flowers grew in perfect order;
tended to with care.
The books arranged from big to smaller;
out-of-place was rare.

The blankets all were neatly folded;
smelling fresh and clean.
The food was laid out on the plate;
the meat was always lean.

Each day’s routine a perfect dance;
from waking until dreaming.
She didn’t know the Gods above
were tracking her and scheming.

They watched for years as time went by;
in structured mundane silence.
They watched in silent fury with a mood
akin to violence.

The time to shake her up had come;
The group of Gods now mused.
The time to send a person in;
To light a long-dead fuse.

He walked into the room
And threw her books upon the floor.
He pulled apart the order;
And turned around to look for more.

He spotted her inside the room;
and like a magnet drew her to him.
She melted in his arms;
and let the order turn to ruin.

The Gods smiled down from up on high;
their work was finally done
They set two lonely hearts on fire;
it was really such good fun.

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Put Back (A Rhyme)

Her beating heart lie on the floor;
a mass of people watched in horror.
Her blood pooled out so slick and red;
they tried so greatly to ignore it.

She turned herself on to her knees;
she crawled along to try grab it.
But it was faster than her listless pace;
it slipped away like a scared rabbit

He broke out of the gasping crowd;
with tender hands he tried to claim it.
She watched as he worked gently;
being careful not to maim it.

He slipped it back into her chest;
then stitched her up with tender care.
He pulled her back on to her feet;
so she could finally breathe the air.

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He told her she stunk of desperation;
but she couldn’t smell it.
She scrubbed for hours in the shower and bath;
using soaps, and washes, and scents.
It repelled him, he said.

She supposed it was her natural aroma;
emanating from her like garlic,
or a strong curry.
Perhaps it came from age;
like over-ripened cheese or fermented wine.

Could they all smell it?

There is a simple solution she mused.
Cut away the mold.
Let the wine breathe.
Toast the spices.
And feast like Kings.

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Balancing Act

They slither out through gritted teeth.
Vowels and consonants turning themselves sideways
to fit through the tight spaces.
Escaping the confines; formed in the rolls and creases
of the brain.

Worthless conversation leading nowhere.
Words suspended on high wires;
balanced on strings tight with tension.
They inch their way across the divide;
no safety net to catch them.

Falling from open mouths
they shatter as they hit the ground.
A’s and E’s; yes’ and no’s bursting on impact.
Crystal shards of verbal glass;
non-tempered it splits the soles of feet.

Leaving red footprints in the wake;
grinding them to dust.

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A large crowd had gathered.
I knew what I would find at the center.
She was down again.
The arrow that pierced her heart was bigger this time.
The wound was deeper.
There was more blood.
Do you know her they asked.
Can you help her they asked.
I had been through this before.
I waved my hand over the arrow and watched it fold in on itself.
The crowd watched her body absorb yet another.
Shall I lay my hand to close this wound I asked.
No, she said, I’ve had enough.
This time was poison-tipped she said.
The crowd watched in stunned silence as I closed her eyes and walked away.

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