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I would rather live a shorter life with you by my side
than an eternity without you
Alone on Silk Road
Caught in her own web of lies
The black widow curled.
Rose by any other name
sprouting in the city,
does not sell as sweet --
A dandelion plucked
from Midwestern soot,
blown to the wind, assumed
Out-shown by gardens
of the proven perennial
(once Violet, Lily, or Daisy)
Waiting on bated baby's breath
to blossom beyond marigold,
an undiscovered exotic
For this concrete jungle.
A "Poem in a Moment" inspired by my "Photos in a Moment" on Instagram (@xjwharvey). See the accompanying photo at http://instagram.com/p/olnkzMzgQg/
Hand me down children
breathe off borrowed air
born from slip ups
out of the womb they come
into the arms of guilty parents
and into this world of musical chairs
where everybody's fighting for a seat

too many kids?
or not enough chairs?

hand me down children have a way
of looking at the world
a little differently
they ask why and can take a beating
they admire the shades of their bruises
they are made of the same stuff as firecrackers
they know when they are being lied to
they even know why

Hand me down children will always find each other
and love each other
Hand me down children sat in the back
and couldn't spell too well
they did stupid dares and almost died frequently
they got socks for Christmas
and made them into puppets
they weren't scared of the dark
or at least that's what they say
they slice up the night like birthday cake
and pop tires to make swings
and the world is their playground
monkey bars of lead pipes
swings of driftwood
slides of cement, toppled building halfpipes
sidewalk chalk stolen from substitute teachers
Paper cranes made out of pink slips,
merri-go-round-abouts, bikes without brakes

Hand me down children play
in mommys old sweater
daddys old socks
brothers shoes
and sisters scarves
and they play after the flashlights burn out
and after the fireflies die in their jars
struggling with the ending...mmmm probably will change it.
I've learn to abhor many things such as
The taste of salty, **** tears on my tongue,
The aroma of the dewy, crisp forest floor,
The vision of blue eyes intertwined with bliss dancing away,
The feel of a burning hot neck being pressed on by a gelid nose
The sound of a drowsy midnight voice whispering "I love you."
But it seems that what I've come to execrate
Are the same as what I was once learning to grow fond of.
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