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Chris T Dec 2014
I never did trust this goldfish
while typing.

Its bulging eyes scream spy,
and I won't have it escape,
tell people from wrong crowds
about these secret writing projects.

Circling its crystal bowl,
this goldfish is mine.

A political prisoner
with no chance at pardon.
Call Amnesty International
or protest, I don't care.

It knows too much
to swim in freedom.

(Eventually)
Death will be its liberator:
Its body glistening in the sundown
during the proposed viking funeral;

secrets kept secret.
The final cut to this legendary James Bond type goldfish ordeal.

Editors Note:

1. The author doesn't own a goldfish and is in fact voicing his own insecurities about the sea creature. He truly fears goldfish.

2. Any resemblance to real life goldfish is completely coincidental. The author has never encountered a real life secret service goldfish.

3. No animals were harmed in the editing of this poem. Please love all our animal friends whether it be mammal or fish (or anything).
Run.
Faster!
They're catching up,
They're almost here.

Crashing through the woods--
You can hear their spies
Buzzing through the trees,
Right beside you,
Keeping up easily with your dragging.
You feel too tired to keep up with
The fast pace.

Pick up your feet.
They're on your tail!
Get up.
Run!

The spies--
Some darken the sky,
Now a hazy gray,
Their black wings overtake the slower pace.
You can hear their gleeful laughs and cries.

Don't give in.
FIGHT!
Run.

You feel your feet uselessly pulling,
They refuse to go on.
They need to!
You let yourself fail,
You can feel yourself fall from exhaustion.
The exertion was not enough.
Crash--
Fall--
Down.
There's no one here--
No one but the enemy.

No one will save you.
You didn't run fast enough.
Exaggeration of how I feel when I run alone in the woods.


Funkify Definition: To retreat fearfully.

— The End —