Alexander Coppedge

Rookie - 80 Points (June 25,1954 / Warrenton, North Carolina)

My Magic Stone - Poem by Alexander Coppedge

It's a close good friend,
when we really need one,
it never said it wouldn't stay.
Companion to us soothing,
easing our discomforts,
when our heads are splitting.
A rescuer, true to its cause,
when we are failing physically,
aimed efforts in restoring assured.
Warrior facing challenges,
when we have colds and be fallen,
when we diagnose ourselves sick.
Combative fighter in conflicts for us,
daggers in our body, badly throbbing,
times our teethes ache from wobbling.
Our friend is a product of science,
quenching reserve from suffering,
given choice to us, for numbing ease.
A cure to please aiming,
considering relief by some causing,
given unto us in pill forms.
Bringing joy, as our friend works,
hopes in happiness regaining,
escaping our directed complaints.
End to down strife dragging,
draining our energy fatigues having,
and hidden operational twinges.
Shield bright shining,
targeting to conquer our sickening,
fighting against our countless lames.
Mystically, a piece created,
cloaked in mysteries,
round white stone in its appearance.
Pill made of various items,
selected ingredients are powdered,
compressed, compounded elements.
Sold a tiny compact feature,
all for a single price to have,
here for wanting hands.
Our escape from sorrow's land,
which torments us in pounds,
our body felt nightmares.
It's our sound sleep,
an aid when world makes us cry,
zone from stress and anguish.
Fountain replenishing,
refreshing, healing us inside,
assistance or brief retreat from pain.
Items in pills hold keys,
components are treatment to our ills,
opening escape to healing gateways.
Pill an absolute miracle beholding,
holding fighters against inflections,
victorious wins as ingredients cures.
Pill within measures tested,
evaluated in its creation defined,
approved by authority, totally.
Pill does not verbally talk performing,
truth is not in pill's spoken wisdom,
lectures speaking, saying in schools.
Nor does pill utter any intents caring,
holding inside its virtues pretending,
claimed understood sound known.
Our brilliant stone of science, loved,
endeared around the world,
a creation without a brain.

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Form: Prose Poem

Poet's Notes about The Poem

The world or fleshly man miracle cure Prior to that it was roots I know I'm a victim Boiled them and wrap them and place them on the chest Childhood You got to love it

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, March 12, 2013

Poem Edited: Saturday, October 3, 2015

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