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Fumi Himawari Oct 2018
and when I miss you, I look at the Sun.
He reminds me so much of you.

You are my little sunshine, the sunbeam that tickles my cheek.

The blazing heat that warms my racing heartbeat.

The love that I tried to confess.

The secret in between my poetry.
Eleanor Sinclair Jul 2018
No matter how many words I write
I can’t get you out of my head tonight
Or out of my dreams in my bed, alright?
I try to write you away
Yet you stay

You make the sun slowly rise
I see my world in your eyes
b e mccomb Dec 2017
once in november
a late afternoon
sunbeam
managed to slip
its way into the
windowless kitchen

it hit me in the eye
and trickled down
my flannel shirt
i held it in my hand

remembered it
for days like this

days when i am
tired
and the coffee won't
come off the floor
or the stains out
of the sink
or the grounds from
under my nails

and i want to cry
but all i've got is
creamy egg wash
monotony
mixed with
chocolate chips

i keep that sunbeam
for days like this

cold and frozen
can't feel my fingers
wind blowing
down my neck

there's a tiny little
sunbeam in my
back pocket that
i'll never forget
copyright 12/14/17 by b. e. mccomb
Saint Audrey Sep 2017
So much bitter sweet love
For the pictures In front of me
How much left to the imagination
Color in the imagery

Warm hues nearly toxic
Feelings, intoxicating
Melting away into memory

And I'm the king of this playground
For like, another hour or two
And I'm on the top of this world
Because I've got nothing better to do

Beyond my power

I could've cried the day away
But the sun keeps prying
And swallows me anyway
Into beams of security
Belonging in every ray
And the time seems to rush by
Minutes folding into a day
Marked on a calendar
Never to be reclaimed
But still cherished just the same

Every facet of freedom
Sounding perfect from every side
Sometimes lacking wisdom
And brevity to realize

Life is so short
Sometimes
Nostalgia
I don’t want a sunbeam
give that to Jesus.
Don’t bother me with purity,
don’t let me make shadows
out of you.

I don’t want a butterfly
batting along on the wind.
The wind of my word,
on the gale of my opinion.

I don’t want a pearl,
something that needs to be made.
Made from gritty sand, held close,
and pressurised round and edgeless.

I don’t want a rose
called what I want it to be,
cut where I want it to be,
on my lapel, for when it makes me look best.

I don’t want conversations like schizophrenia.
If you want me to be able to explain you in four lines,
I don’t want you.
Sometimes when dating, girls seem to be reluctant to have their own opinions, as if you may like them less if they are counter to yours.
Nick Strong Jun 2014
Last time you told me that the sun shines,
Even when clouds cover the blue.
But how can this be so?

Last time you told me that tears were salty,
Because they came from the sea.
But how can this be so?

Last time you showed me that every day starts,
With a sunrise, and ends with a sunset.
But how can this be so?

Last time you told me that happiness is,
In everyone’s heart despite the darkness.
But how is this so?

Last time you told me there was a *** of love,
At the end of the rainbow.
But how could this be so?

Last time it rained, you remarked that it was,
Tears from heaven weeping for lost.
But how could this be so?

Last time it snowed, you told me,
It was angel’s feathers falling from heaven.
But how could this be so?

Last time you told me kisses were,
Like a little taste of heaven.
But how could this be so?

Last time you told me the stars,
Were kisses blown towards the moon.
But why would this be so?

Last time you told me catching sunbeams,
Protected you from the night.
But why would this be so?

Last time you told me the moon, cast a shadow.
You said it was time to dance beneath the sky.
But why would this be so?

Last time you gave me your heart, you said,
Fasten it with a button to your own.
This I understood.  X

© Nick Strong 2014

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