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CautiousRain Apr 2019
I'd like to be buried in sand
so when an archeologist, an excavationist, or a child
walks into the sandbox,
they might believe my body is a hidden treasure,
and for once,
I would be remembered.
More sand? We're surrounded by sand!
astrid Feb 2019
Even as the golden embers of the Sun
sweep the rough surfaces of wood,
the rays command the light to twist,
to show the perfectly imperfect portrait of life.

Even as nature's breath let
the crisp autumn leaves sway with the air,
you don't cease your own little dance
within the children's sandbox.

Even as your eyes crinkle along the edges
with your nose crunching like a flower bud,
you seem as if you were Touch-Me-Nots
that found its way to become a Sunflower.

Even as we align like a seesaw
with weights that drift us apart to a distance, but
bring us closer to the equilibrium,
we would always be close but never quite there.

Even as I see you the way that I do,
even if my words won't reach you,
I write all these to let other seedlings know
of a special flower called *you.
happy birthday to *yoo. :")
Tommy Randell Mar 2018
A good set of knives in the kitchen
A pillow that cradles my head
A total absence of religion
A cat that is not overfed

Some positives to look forward to
Some leeway when I get things wrong
Some purpose in the stuff I Have to do
Some justice in the Bads I've undergone

The idea I can sing Frank Sinatra
The confidence to dance a good Jive
The not hiding behind all my armour
The knack of always being there on time

I want the days in my Sandbox to be perfect
I want my Castles to shine in the Sun
I want the Wars outside to be sound effects
Inside I want only Love
Star BG Sep 2017
I'm a kid in a sandbox,
as if each sand molecule is a word.
and every pile built becomes a poem.

I am a kid in the sandbox
building a castle of visionary verses,
as inner child comes out
and time stops.

I am a kid in the sandbox,
constructing inside grace,
Inside the moment that holds
endless creative poetry.

I am a kid in the sandbox ,
putting on a writers hat
who will never grow up.
Frank Ruland Oct 2014
The
beautiful thing about
poetry,
is it's
anything
you want.
Audrey Apr 2014
Society is just a bunch of little kids
Playing in the dirt,
Grubby fingers digging in the mud,
Wide eyes and buck toothed grins
Awestruck by shiny pebbles.
All we will ever know or will ever see
Is contained in this 10 by 10 square
Of ants and stray blades of grass,
Hands sticky with fruit juice.
Idea credit to my friend Allie :)

— The End —