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Taylor - Sweety Jun 2019
Imperfections are beautiful..
they make us stand apart, from the crowd..
they are not always meant to be plowed;
Imperfections..
They are not liked by any
and camouflaged by many,
but they are closer to my heart..
as they are evident on me like a schardt
Imperfections..I will not disown them for any flagships..
Because imperfection is what defines our relationship;
The summer begins at seven
As the last song is sung
Last time we'll be together
before the future has begun
We laughed we cried we screamed we yelled
as a class we fought, as a class we fell

The teachers they are smiling
and the pupils they are, too
We will not miss each other
For we're not meant to do
They yelled, they screamed, just as we spoke
We laughed at them, just like a joke

But I am feeling empty
For no more I will glance
At that special someone
I will no more have the chance
I'll feel empty daily, for I know that I will miss
I'll miss the chance to see her, it was such a bliss

For some the future is an ocean
And it's now we drift alone
Guiding our on flagships
To split, yes we are prone
But will it ever happen, that we reunite again
Who would say they'd missed me, for I will not miss them
I found it fitting to add this poem now as the summer is almost over.

Written hours before school ended for the summer year 2011
Orion Schwalm Jan 2017
Fire Watcher.
Spark Guarder.
You smell of ash and the past.


Yea, burning your brother's shirt on the side of the street.
Stamping the spare sparks away with the soles of your feet.
Doesn't it hurt?
Sending souls beyond into the mist?
Turning the flesh into Flagships adrift?
Burning to be with the burnt.
Returning the souls to the earth.

Watching tiny flames ride skeletal monorails to work,
  wearing a brother's shirt,
    clutching father's overcoat...
      fan, release, stoke.
When we become tinder, Fire Watcher guides the cinders.
Tender eyes and mute mouth.
Ember skies and waking owls.
The wolf is allowed to howl again.

Spark Guarder waits for it all to go out.
Forgiveness in flame.
Henry Brooke Jul 2015
The princess spits on the king,
Lying and ******* as much as she sings.
Her daft sticky package sliding 'cross  
walls of cold expensive rocks;  
She's that goat's toungue on a saltstick,
she's the rain on Ayer's rock.

White and pretty, tall and lonely
Aryan treasure fills her pleasure form:
one light life, of cruel dominance only
slipping between crack and follies
of ***-bound human bodies.

For now we are slime faces,
hidden chef d'œuvres of the waiting.
Today sewer crud, tomorrow
flagships of tall institutions.
Right now, the cold bitter lonely nights
safe of any example, safe of any fright.
Tomorrow the fables maybe;
plastic posters selling out,
while rabies spead and hunger shouts
from yet smaller mouths.
work in progress | inspired by Auden
My machines
work well for me
you and my flagships
are now fleet bound

You have strategic play, all I have ever known
time my sweets, to claim what is ours
we are now fleet bound
so sisters hold the line

By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

By NeonSolaris

© 2013 NeonSolaris (All rights reserved)

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