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A poem in Brady's Touch form (described following the poem) about an uncertain future. |
| I lie awake too often, sweating, questioning the state of my being, panicked at what each new day holds, frantic that I can do little. Unsure. There is little to gain by fretting. I can not escape it by fleeing. I must face my future alone, a future that's all too brittle, obscure. Brady's Touch: 2 5-line stanzas Syllabic, 9-9-8-8-2 9-9-8-8-2. Rhyme scheme abxcd abxcd. x being unrhymed. |