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Poppy

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Thin pale limbs;
They hang loosely
From his unsturdy frame.
Quivering movements,
Only steadied by his core,
his mind and heavy heart.
Full and weighty, a stick in the mud,
An uplifter, from the quicksand that sucks him down.

Thin pale words;
They fall loosely
From his parched lips
Chapped and shaky
Only sturdied by their meaning,
Their striking ability to resonate
Like the tendrils of a kelp’s holdfast;
Its leaves, the wavering words,
Victim to the forceful sway of the tides.

Thin pale steps;
Inching forward
With the slow shuffle of his feet.
He collapses onto the couch,
The cushions engulfing his wiry frame.
He reaches towards the book
Lying on that marble coffee table.
As his arm extends, I watch,
My eyes glued to this endless torture
Of his fragility.
But as he grabs hold of that book
And delves back into the oatmeal pillows,
It’s comforting to know
That by mind over body,
Words over war,
This man is but the strongest I’ve ever met.





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