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 Jan 2021 Ayesha
Michael Stefan
She plunged it in, alright
A tight twist to a tiny hand,
With no solemn apology...
Such harsh and hard steel-
Such hard and harsh cuts-
To such soft flesh,
Now marred by red ruts

She never whimpered,
She never groaned,
She never smiled,
She never moaned.
She stood in one place,
As she let the blade slide,
And felt not a thing
As the knife slid inside

She remained like a statue-
So still like the steel,
Examining the accurate
Lines she had made.
And in one brief moment
She stole a glance from her place
To check the oxygen mask
Secured to my face
First, sorry if the beginning triggered anyone.  I wanted this to be a little misleading.  This is the first installment of the experiences I had exiting the military.  I had some severe spinal surgeries, ultimately leading to my medical discharge.  Please read the poems to follow this one.
 Jan 2021 Ayesha
Grey
We sit at the cliff's edge
and skip rocks made of stardust
across the universe of time.
1/4/2021
Happy 2021! I was moments away from falling asleep when this suddenly came to me and I just had to write it down.
 Dec 2020 Ayesha
Francie Lynch
My new windows are transparent,
Free from smudge and tarnish.
I was clear-eyed gazing out,
Reflective peering in.
Two-sided.
Finger prints have been wiped free,
But around the edges there are still ridges,
Evidence of being opened and closed,
Unbroken in their sturdy frames.

But time is no friend to glass.
Winds assail it, birds bounce off at break-neck speed,
Dust accumulates, it becomes opaque.
Missiles assault its permanence,
Shattering the pane into foreboding shards, like a shell.

Some desperate glazes never get replaced,
They invite stone-throwers.
Then the building becomes derelict, untenable.

One stone can break a window,
Or fell a giant.
 Dec 2020 Ayesha
Jason R Michie
____

To wallow in and under drown,

To shape a tear, to form a frown.


Exaggerations embracing pain,

They weave a spell to summon rain.


A heart to crush, a mind to flood,

And veins that throb with rivers blood.


Confusion swims where soft truth flies,

A cauldron to mix a concoction of lies.


These fires scar, yet sear no flesh,

While times slow healing turns souls to ash.
© 1998 Jason R. Michie All Rights Reserved
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