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A nation mourns the passing of a great man
A most esteemed leader of the South African lands
He railed against white rule all those years ago
His colored brothers and sisters followed his tide changing flow
The world has lost a man who so inspired
His courage and grit are to be admired
The father of freedom in true democracy
He spoke the words for his people's equality
How high the sky flies when it is filled with winter rain clouds,
I feel like I'm inside an egg.

For some reason this runs my imagination,
to be inside a white shell, elation.

Stranger still is when this shell cracks open,
I can see the black sky behind.

In conclusion it's not only egg I love,
But also the egg's occlusion.

Funny thing it is to say,
I love cracking eggshells open.
 Dec 2013 George Atkinson
Free
Lemons- in fanfictions, a gritty or ****** scene.















I watched your Adam's apple bob
As you swallowed your arousal.
My head was swirling with the scent of lemons,
And I couldn't help myself
As I tottered towards you on my intoxication,
Inebriation.
My hands hit your chest,
And in our unsteadiness,
My extra push sent us tumbling...
Down onto the Citrus yellow sheets of your bed
My mouth on your neck,
Wanting only to taste your Lemon sweat.
Your eyes wandered freely,
And your hands soon followed.
Touching my *******,
The perky *******,
You put your mouth on one,
Extracting from it some sour mix of sweetness,
The lemon in my veins.
We mashed together,
Your member against my cavity,
Pictures of lemons in my mind.
Your hand round my throat,
You began to speak harshly,
Lemon tainting your soul.
The acid in your words,
Acid on your fingernails as they tore my skin...
It hurt,
But it hurt like the beautiful Lemons that brought me here.
You put yourself in me,
Again and again
You forced my body into submission.
My tears burned with the citrus,
My eyes now yellow,
Like the lemons.
In this lighting,
Your skin looked yellow too,
I could almost say your head was a lemon...
Pain resurfaces,
Blood,
The sensation that something was flowing into me,
I knew your lemon juice had filled my pitcher,
Now it was available for drinking.
And you did,
You drank your lemon juice with my sugar,
Lemonade of us two.
Pleasure rocked my body,
And I felt your lemon invading me.
But you yourself,
You were drawing it out of me.
My walls pulled in,
They clenched,
I let out a shrill.
The smell of our lemon sweat
Once again,
Pervading the room.
You collapsed beside me,
The drug wearing off,
Lemons exiting your mind already.
I wasn't done though.
I'm still obsessed.
Still obsessed with lemons.
Im dropping my phone slow, no where to go, a provocative photo to, a dance in the snow, a kiss without ending, a night with a show, a shoulder with out crying, and gone to fast but forever slow, I'll hold you until our forever sunrise, and kiss away our rapture lies, you will hold onto me tight, and we'll holds until the end of the night
For my Naru that will never be...
 Dec 2013 George Atkinson
shaqila
I'm the star you didn't notice
I'm the rainbow that didn't catch your eye
I'm the soft breeze that you brushed away
I'm the beat your heart missed
I'm the face in the crowd that was drowned
I'm the cry in the night you ignored
I'm the one who watches you whom you cannot see
I'm the song you never sing anymore

I'm the lesson you didn't learn!
Inspired in part by soul!
December falls upon my eyes;
I am scared as hell.

The numbness of limbs,
the sorrowful gray
that casts over me and you
and what we once used to be.

December will be the death of me,
I know for sure
because this time
I sit alone with my sword unready
and the candle flickering.

The winds will whisper
in my ear, things I already know
and unto you,
the realization that will never come.

December,
I am afraid.
I am not strong enough
to face you.
‘What will you buy when Christmas comes
To show me your love, dear heart?
Will you fill my bower with fruit and flowers
To enjoy while we’re apart?
Will you buy the things that you promised me,
Like a bangle for my wrist,
Or a diamond, topaz, sapphire ring,
Or a giant amethyst?’

He stood, head down and he held her hand
As she lay so pale in the bed,
He didn’t tell her his job was lost
Or what his employer said.
There were charges he would have to face
That would fill her heart with gloom,
That by Christmas Day he would be away
And not be returning soon.

‘I’d rather give you the crescent Moon
As a coronet, dear Tess,
And pluck the stars from the Milky Way
As sequins for your dress,
Then call on the Charioteer, my dear
For your transport to the heights,
Where the gods will fall on their knees to bless
This glimpse of paradise.’

She smiled, then faded away to sleep
And dream of a ghostly tower,
Where her prince stood long at the battlements
At the height of a fateful hour,
An army lay in the fields about
In a siege for her, no less,
‘We’ve come for the Queen of Golders Green,
And we won’t leave without Tess!’

While he sat bowed in a lonely cell
And wept at his sense of loss,
He’d only needed another month
And the price would be worth the cost,
He’d not be there when she needed him
As she glided out through the door,
The Judge fixed him with a puzzled eye,
‘Just who was the coffin for?’

On Christmas Eve she awoke before
Her heart pit-pattered and stopped,
Her fading eyes had looked to the door
Along with her hopes, they dropped.
But in her hair was a crescent Moon
And stars were all over her dress,
While a Charioteer came into the room,
‘I’ve a chariot here, for Tess!’

David Lewis Paget
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