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Any monster will do

The
FREAK, pursued by the maddened troop, foamed at the
MOUTH. Trapped at the crumbling edge of the
CLIFF-top, he paused. Time to drop, to die. The nearing
TROOP, open-mouthed, watched him tumble, peaceful, without a cry.

Thermopylae

MOUTH of the mountain pass held, tensions walking the edge of a
CLIFF, waiting for the tide of attack to come in––each
TROOP coming to terms with the inevitable, not hoping for a
FREAK stroke of luck, but eager for iron and bronze.

Muster Grace

VERGE of chaos, strife always straining to cliff’s edge,
SHORT fuses and fears ascendant reach for grim logic,
TRIPE abundant, speech measured by edge’s sharpness.
STOIC hearts must beat slowly and muster grace.

Carpe diem

WOKEN from a too short sleep, I heroically

SCALE a cliff (a.k.a menial tasks I didn’t want to do)

BLUFF my way through a meeting I wasn’t prepared for,

FLING my unread emails to the wind and go back to bed.

Don’t Stop Now

SHEER cliff descended, pre-positioned kayak retrieved: paddle for it.
DRIER moments soon envied, each breath stokes hope of freedom.
ROWER, sore muscled, with blistered hands, feels he can
CINCH it. Just a few more miles across the bay, before the sun comes up, before alarms sound.