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E McNamara Mar 2018
My freckles
Lay among the clouds
As shining stars
Shimmering as angel hearts

My hands
Caress the sand
Of the ocean floor
Far below the shore

My hair
Waltzes with the wind
As an aerial dance
A ghost at first glance

My vitality
An elemental force
Never to be extinguished
Never to be vanquished
E McNamara Mar 2018
The ocean spray of salt
The everlasting sounds of waves
The sand, a locked vault
The tide, an unforgiving grave

The sun rises at the edge
The memories so celestial
I take my loyal pledge
My heart a sailing vessel

Sea shells, colorful in sound
Sea life, beautiful in sight
A dream I’ve finally found
The sunset, a hypnotizing light

The airborne seagulls calling me to sink
The surf alluring a magical peace
My endeavors start to shrink
The stars turn to be my timepiece
E McNamara Mar 2018
I loved Him
Like the moon loved the stars
I studied him
Like the stargazers
A masterpiece

Please be mine
Never to be mine

Two planets
With different routes
Desperately wanting.

I destroyed myself
For you.
So that my meteors
Would go closer
Than I ever could,
I’m yours for good
E McNamara Mar 2018
I feel like lemons and limes
Sprinkled in sugar
The sour, covered
Soaking in the sweet salt
To become tangy

Maybe I’ll become a peach
Sugary to the pit
Dipped in honey
And brown sugar
Finally mature
E McNamara Mar 2018
I come from paint
And tangled words
I come from shouting
And whispers

I come from the sketches
And vibrant thoughts
Strokes of chroma
And artistry

I come from the salt of every ocean
From blazing fire
And summer storms
From the rock of Jupiter

I am an improved form,
Assembled,
Of the materials,
Of anything I decide.
E McNamara Mar 2018
My mind the ocean
Waves crashing, always changing.
Ships sinking,
Sitting on the ocean floor, forgotten.
Ships thriving,
Discovering new land, flourishing.
Ships sculpted,
Brand new, setting out to sea-
Freshly crafted.
The ships like my sailing thoughts,
Wandering.
Expanding.
Forgotten.
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E McNamara Mar 2018
Pill after pill
Stanza after stanza

A medicine of confession
Poetry, a prescription

For the pain
I would never show

For the joy
I never wrote

Swallowed
Now with ink on paper
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