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Scarlet M Dec 2017
He chased her like drifting clouds,
a beauty beheld, he longed for her,
adorned her with jewels, sparkling, brilliant,
like her eyes, reflected in the stars.

He filled her milieu with flowers,
and all fine things she could ever imagine
he was entirely captivated, primed to run away,
to abandon his world of riches,
for her sake and for his.

Blinded by a charm that is visible only in the eye;
forgetting the heart in which fate truly lies
he loved her genuinely,
truly, she was his paragon of happiness;
his one and only goal.

And yet he got nothing in return
not love, not her heart, nor her soul
abandoned, despised, and forgotten,
not a single stem was offered.

Now he wonders in his deep slumber,
forever mourning, and reaching,
for that green light,
a love he knew that was never meant to be his.
I'm so sorry, I just had to write this. The Great Gatsby broke me.
Autumn Whipple Jun 2015
In my younger
and more vulnerable years
I
                  walked
                   on
I was lonely
        no longer
I was a guide
            a pathfinder
I had that familiar
                  conviction
                         that life
was beginning over
promising to unfold
that shining secret
that only
Midas
               and Morgan
                              and Maecenas knew,
that the wingless
had been overlooked
in a fashion
that rather
             took
                         your
                                  breath
                                            away.
I was fragilely bound into
a murmured apology
of moths
among
            the whispers
                                  and the champagne
                               and the stars
Bantering inconsequence
that was made of
infinitesimal
               hesitation
I repeated blankly
a surprising
shill metallic urgency
Bloomed with light
it sort of crept in on us
that I
               had truly
heard nothing at all
In the unquiet darkness
continually smoldering
with disappointment
in the solemn echoing
green light.
a dim hazy cast
lay upon my love
your love
     belongs
             to me
                 She insisted
its too late now
           he scowled
I could only stare
as
she cried
            A terrible
                        terrible
                                   Mistake!
you ask too much
she told me
I love you now.
you cant repeat the past
he said
why,
     of
            course
                        you can!
I paid a
high price
for living too long
with a
                   single
                              dream.
great Gatsby found poem I wrote in class. I got an a on it, but I need some improvement suggestions.

— The End —