Its slick with sweat
& blood & fear.
How could I
On such a thing,
So wobbly and unsecure.
It twists & bends
And throws me to the ground.
Why bother to try
Why worry about a
Four feet high
And 4 inches wide
Why even bother?
Why even try?
Why should I stand, when all I do is fall?
But I am a
Proud and strong.
So I try again,
And again I fall.
But I stand,
And stare down the beast,
With its bent spine
And curled claws,
I stand again,
And this time
I do not fall.
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Comments about this poem (The Beast by Rachel Beal )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
Edna St. Vincent Millay
(22 February 1892 – 19 October 1950)
William Ernest Henley
(1849 - 1902)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
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