"the bike is white and prefect"
Michael Ryan 

The garage opens
light floods in
the sky is blue and solid
the ground is black and clear
the bike is white and prefect
strangers ignore it all
the bike is moving
passing my own view
cars keep chasing their own tail
the bike doesn't hesitate
into a white car it goes
the car isn't white, but red
strangers stare at it all
there is no bike of perfection
the ground is also not black, but red
the sky is dark filled with lights
my view is darkness
and the light cannot flood anymore

Every time I ride my bike I wonder if I'll get hit by a car and just maybe I wish I would.
"So go define, your prefect mind,"
Rickie Louis 

I try to write all the time,
all the time I try to rhyme.

but it seems at times,
there's no time to rhyme.

It's a crime, At any time
to let a rhyme, not define, your mind.

But this time,
was time,
to write this rhyme.

It defines, quite fine,
what's on my mind.

This is a sign,
to always take the time,
to write a witty rhyme.

Because the mind,
should always be defined.

Even if there is no rhyme,
even if you have no time.

Cause one day there will be a line,
when no more times left to define.

And when that times up to that line,
When mind to minds left mind to line,
It's  what was written on that line,
it's all that's left to help remind.

So go define, your prefect mind,
Write something down upon that line,
Give my mind, what yours defined,
And line to line, words will remind,
What used to be, inside your mind.

"In this, a prefect story of fiction."
Cassius 

Your a saint playing the villain
In this, a prefect story of fiction.
Your a crooked cop.
When your supposed to be protecting mine
You only protecting yours
Your a tenured teacher
Escaping so soon
With your first class still in the rear-view.
Your a corrupt politician
Elected by the people
Yet holding a hand out for more.
Your a beautiful woman
Who stole something precious
And never bothered to give it back in the end.

"The prefect seasons"
Stu Harley 

August rain
Turning into a light drizzle
Clouds tapping their tambourines
How nature puts on
Her magnificent show
Splashing her true colors
All that she knows
Orange, red, green and gold
A dash of royal purple and some indigo
Well, she knows
How to swing
Her bright lamp
Through all
The prefect seasons
I'm sure and still are

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