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William Marr Jul 2020
competing with the sunny world for glory
you prop up a flowery umbrella
a little sky of your own

then you turn your head around
and with a sweet smile
scorch a pair of eyes
hidden behind
a sunglasses
Greg Muller Mar 2020
Set out from the sandy shore.
The lake an everlasting Paramore.

The boat breaths like my hearty chest
Up and down upon the waves white-tipped crest

Overhead the birds squawk in a one-note tune.
Like a harpsichord playing an unknown song.

Turning away from the sun
The blue ocean becomes glum Black sunglasses fall further on my face.

Water droplets still find my smiling face.
Sailing wind drives us away from my starting place

A Call
A Shout.
Turning on my breath

A shoreman’s happiest wish
A fresh face for whom to softly kiss.

The boat turns toward our shore.

Leading us to both softly tip
Without a word on our fearless lips

Docking us once more
Upon the sandy shore.
Liz Jan 2020
I put on sunglasses
To hide the loss of eyelashes
The tears pull them out
Leaving me in a drought
My eyes are tinted red

I put on sunglasses
To dull how intense the past is
It's brightness blinds me
But God's grace finds me
Even in the dark
7/11/19
Pyrrha Jan 2020
Your angelic words wrapped with demonic intent
Wont reach me from all the way up there
Your pedestal is too high, I'm afraid I can't hear a word you say
Your godlike vocabulary can't hide that devilish motive
And for as much as you lie, you are one awful liar
That angel light of yours can't blind me anymore
I have a special pair of sunglasses now
They block out all the repugnant **** from sight
Mark Toney Dec 2019
Sun scorching, sweltering, sizzling beach

My hardened soles resist the heat

Sunglasses shielding my eyes

White cotton ball clouds glide

Along deep blue skies

But I’m blue too

Intensely

Missing

You
12/12/2019 - Poetry form: Nonet - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Lynnia May 2019
She buries her face in her hands, stuck too fast
Jammed in her passion, she fashions her last
breath from the diamonds that grace her fingertips
Gently, gently, they fall as the blood drips
Slowly like a rhythmic drum beating, repeating
Heartbeats as her only assurance of being alive
Wide eyes tried to slide up where people could truly see
But her sunglasses are steel doors, and visible is something she’ll never be
5.27.19
Maziar Ghaderi May 2019
I was on the plateau when it happen.

I always hated going under it in the middle of the day. It felt like a mirror; a reflected isomer — too still and too sad to be near. Shadows give that same feeling, but with blurred corners feeling slightly farther away.

I prefer going under the bridge at night. Cooler, like sunglasses that you don’t have to put on. The night as a way of saying, “It’s not up to you what you get to see now. I decide what’s important for you. Which is absolutely nothing”.
Masha Yurkevich Mar 2019
I'm sorry.
I think you've
make my day so bright,
I going to have to
wear sunglasses
so I don't lose
my sight.
There really are some special and bright people our there!
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