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A month ago I sat in class
in a New England School for boys
Now, I'm in a bomber group
Adjusting to the noise

I made plans for Harvard
A doctor, I would be
Then my life would turn
In a way I didn't see

The war was on in Europe
We saw in the press
But, 18 days before Christmas
we were pulled into the mess

Future plans were put aside
Our country we'd support
We'd forget all of our future thoughts
We'd join, though not for sport

We signed up down in Boston
Young men flyers, soldiers all
Preparing for a battle
Many would not live till fall

We thought not of our future
Our present, all we had
Many dead by Christmas next
The thought is truly sad

You do not what you want to
But, what needs to be done
You go from boy to man so fast
You've barely walked...now run

Think back on those who made it
Remember who did not
Young men they are forever
They deserve a longer thought

The air is pure and holy
It is scattered with young souls
Boys, now men who went to war
And put aside their goals
I heard your fingers point at metaphors
that confused your mind.
I saw your comfort become woven
around the mask you wear,
when like you failed to find.

What if I told you of those hidden scars
those words could simply free?
Would you become a reflection
of the sun, or pretend
you don't hear me?
Copyright @2014 - Neva Flores Smith - Changefulstorm
Sweet darkest rose
A secret nobody knows
When night gives a glance
Be my moonlight dance

Sweet darkest mystery
With hidden beauty I see
As twilight begins her embrace
Let moonlight touch your face

Sweet darkest sprite
Dancing for my delight
I watch you and I know
By dawn you must go
Copyright Chris Smith 2014
There once was a mime
Who committed a crime
He spoke just one time

But people out for a walk
They heard him talk
Down by the corn stalk

Then the mayor said
We will make him dead
Off with his head

He ran as fast as he could
The mime knew he would
Be killed if he should

He came across a fairy
Her name was Little Mary
She smelt of strawberry

Silently, he started to cry
The fairy wondered why
People wanted him to die

She took his hand
But he could understand
It was time for another land

The mime was never found
For he lives under the ground
Where he never makes a sound
Copyright Chris Smith 2014
Old words empty page so distant we were.
Myths of logic the clouds loomed heavy I bask in the rejection as my flames have burnt themselves out I fear.

No chapter written, the end yet a scratch .
We spoke in riddles only to forget the reason now I find less ******* in are lies so long I have forgotten are truths.

Dark scenes no light from this shutter so does escape the day burdens of are nights cast stones to a soon to be outgoing tide .
My words the ghost haunted only in shadows sometimes we must bury are dreams only to see nightmares through.

No pain me breath in a faithless  embrace .
I no need for the stories so I will simply close the book.
Tomorrows a promise to the few and a reprise of extinction of my thoughts tonight.
Hate what you will never grasp I simply have grown to ignore it all the same .

A demented thought sometimes beats a million well intended lies.
Place your bets when the smoke clears I'll be there a little less left of the fool you once thought to know.

In the wreckage we stood in the moonlight now shadows we've become chase the rats away from the bones .
To many times I have chosen to exist a shell of the canvas can you still recognize what I no longer see myself?

We can **** in passion and thrive only within lust.
We can exist for today only to yearn for a image of what was never are past.

It will all have to fade sometime my dear .
Maybe we could ignore this but it's just not me to play it safe.


And when you find the edge will you push past or simply turn around?
Lit cigarettes linger as once did I there is always a part that should never be taken away .

In the moment we lingered as children afraid of the unknown .
then it was  s nothing more of you as always there was far less of me . .
**** the past it only serves a crutch to collect dust with bitter thoughts and run down as this half vacant room.

And in the silence we knew the answers to questions we never cared to ask.

The page is dry .
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