Hr 8: The Fallen Abridged

He fell from grace through treachery

Legendary scion of heroism

His existence made low

Fain was he

Then upon chance he met redemption

Blue eyed with hair the color of her spirit

Aflame with grit, bravery, and determination

She brings him back from the void

To face the verdant villain

The architect to his state

Though laid low in the final battle

His spirit lived on

In legendary fame

Flinn the Great

Pandemic Normal

Normal can kill

Normal can maim

Normal can eviscerate the very soul

I have often heard the question

“Why can’t you be normal?”



The usual

Not outside the agreed upon parameters of what is


When did those two perception become

Synonymous, I wonder

I have seen death within the eyes

Of those who were told no

Because they weren’t normal

Now we are in the midst of a new normal

One that is erasing the very meaning of the word

and replacing it

With what

I wonder

Heavy Crowns

Heavy are the crowns of kings

Whose mettle sings of steal

Their hearts ablaze with righteous fury

Infected by hate and fear

The conquerors soon to be conquered

Of their own design


There is no evil in the world

Beyond that within man

The spirit creation and destruction

Often named to give form to the formless

To protect the fragile ego, perhaps?

I have always believed that the nature of man




We are a lost and lonely species

Always searching, but never really knowing for what

Perhaps this means every discovery

Has been nothing more than a footnote

Of a journey

Of which there is no end

Temporary Solution

“So fortunate as to find themselves,

Even if only temporarily”

Man will wander seemingly aimless

Drunk on ambition for anything grand

Delusions of meaning

Perhaps that final solution

To the first question



  1. Human Being and Citizen; G. Anastaplo [pg121]

Coffee and Change

Midnight cups

Around the clock

Talking about

How it was

How it is

How it’ll all be behind us

One day

Between sips

Of night

And French Vanilla cream

Care En(d)

Here’s to getting that last bit

About how we were the better men

Losing not to the dark swell

Of hate and fear

But to the shining goal of being right

Even if we were wrong all along

We were right in our persistent notion

Self-righteous in the face of self-sacrifice

We were better men because we faced fear

Without pause and without care

Without care

We faced death and coughed

I Am Me

Hello. I’m Martin. I’ve been writing poetry, among other things, since I was 12. I see this marathon not just as a test, but  chance to connect and grow. Let us grow together my fellow poets.

Hour 24; Prompt 24: July 16, 2017

Of all the things
That I could ask
A gift from you
My sweet lass

Your heart
A kiss
Eternal bliss
You at my side

My wife
My life
I owe to thee
Happiness undying
My Joanie Lee

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