Cry Of A Skirmish, Become Battle

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I have these two hands
Chock full of everything and
Nothing matters but
The fact loneliness, silence
Surround me with a woven
Shourd spun by a spider huge
Enough to swallow camels
Unable to pass through needles.
Still this fight, it is my fight
I will not give up, nor quit;
Nobody, nothing has ever
Beaten me, and now is no
Time to embrace my defeat.
Sure, I have been down, fallen,
But being at the bottom
Is not a place to concede,
The floor is sure beneath you
So you build, build skyscrapers
Rockets, starships, transporters;
Choose the future, create
Technology to carry
You where you wish to begin.
Even if you use only words
Describing the dreams held up
To challenge the entropy
Chaos that dwell threatening
In the dust and grime that swirl
Eroding marvels some worship.
What they do not know, cannot
Be told them, refusing the message
You cannot make them submit
It will be, if it will be,
When it happens, if it does.
You just be you, and be best
That you can be, that you know
How, love has you, and you have
Love enough to inspire, incite
Others to find the greatness
Contained beneath decaying skin
In the very heart of the self
Who is a wisp of shallow breath,
Evanescent, easily
Aborted in the crush of
Moments that slip quick away
Like motes in passing sunbeams.
Rush to the helm, take the wheel,
Drive your ship with dignity,
Care, choose your freight with delight
Do not weigh yourself excessively
Accepting problems others
Create for you, find solutions
No one can attempt besides you.
There is trouble, sadness, tears,
But those are not destiny;
Destiny lies at a time,
Beyond time, a place outside
Space, the heart contains the seeds
Of creativity, eternity,
The ability to transcend
To love deeper and wider
Than imagination knows.
Children of the Creator,
Children of the Forever King,
We are capable of living
Abundance, Heaven on Earth.
Broken, shattered, maybe, but
Keep watching, there are miracles
Unbelievable, we are yet to see.
I know the ending of the story
And the triumphal winner
Calls us, Beloved, and He
Saves us eternally.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
These last two poems are a bit unusual for me. My gratitude list and prompt are in the first of the three entries I have made today. I realize no one liked it, but it had worth.
I am grateful my creativity knows no bounds and that my voice is mine. Being creative, being an original, is one thing no one can take away.
As a prompt, think about the above statement. What freedom, what license does it give you?
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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