“A Great Hero” by Shelby Hotz

From beginnings humble as can be

To holding the world on his back

None can dispute his nobility

That he has strength others lack

A world divided, turned to war

Brother turned enemy, friends lost

Yet he stood with a firm core

Willing to pay the highest cost

To bring back peace forevermore

Through fights both spoken and shot

He lead his comrades through

On troubled worlds, both his and not

With the hope of freedom true

Even when his spark was dimmed

And his loss was felt by all

The spirit and will that personified him

Gave those behind the will and gall

To defy evil’s whim

And revive his mighty thrall

Not death, nor loss, nor war, nor pain

Could beset the great one’s spark

His is a legacy that shall remain

A beacon in every fan’s heart

For there is no here of our time

Than the awesomeness of Optimus Prime

{Prompt: Write a prose poem about your favorite character from a novel/movie/or TV show}

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“Memento Mori” by Kristen Thompson

When the sky begins to darken

Earlier every night

And the trees lose their own covering

I fear

Sometimes when I touch my cheeks

Feel the bones beneath, the teeth

The thought of a skeleton

Hiding so easily, so elusively

Under this mask

Of life

And death

Feels ever more imminent

Like it was only hiding before

Waiting to pounce

I fear

As the leaves are to the trees

Flesh is to the animals

Hiding the greatest secret and fear of all

The ever-present but often forgotten reminder:

Death is only a flimsy layer of skin and tissue away

And skeletons grin because they cannot frown

But autumn does not last

“The Butcher’s Mirror : The Butcher’s Knife” by Anonymous

He looked at himself in the butcher’s mirror: a tarnished slab with a defiant edge. His eyes looked like smooth pebbles with a hole in the middle; however, these holes did not show through, as a real pebble with a hole would, but instead, they showed inside. And what was inside? The deepest dark, like looking through the end of a sweet-toned flute, which never ends.

He only saw himself in the butcher’s tarnished knife for a moment, but it was enough to sever his reflection, and his reflection floated away as the notes of a sweet-toned flute grace the air.

You can look through the hole in a pebble and see the air, the clarity, the emptiness. But is it the same reality as the side you are on?

Or does the butcher’s sweet-toned knife cleave existence in two, as one note riffs over the next.

“Poor Fool” by Shelby Hotz

Why do you do

What you do to you?

Why do you run

You’re dull knife through?

The knife isn’t blunt

And neither are you

But it is dull

As is the person to whom

It belongs

It is no use to you

So why do

What you do

To you?

The hole in her stone

Tells the truth

On its own

It’s a hole where she

Did feel all alone

So I used my knife

Though it is dull

To fill the hole

Through the middle of

Her stone

And the piper played through

And the flute sang true

Of the girl with the stone

And the knife that ran through

Did the piper see who?

Did the piper see through?

The hole?

He saw the truth

That the knife was dull

As was the person

Whom it belonged to

Her hole was too small

He was not to go

In

So he used his dull knife

To cut his way through

Let go

Let go

No, he said, no

I want to be in you

And the piper played through

And the flute sang true

Of the girl with the stone

And the knife that ran through

Poor fool