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Bailey Marie Jul 2014
Someday I will fade
Just like a photograph in one of those books you keep
A distorted memory; there but forgotten
I am nothing but a familiar echo, haunting you from the past
I still live in the moments where our eyes would meet
When we would communicate with smiles and stolen kisses
You were my future
I am your past.
Princess Lynne Jun 2014
Yesterday she genuinely smiled
Something that lit the town bright
The way her lips curved to the left
Before the right reminded me
Of the days she never knew you

Tonight, believe it or not, but she laughed
Her laugh could be heard from a mile
It was so loud,
Contagious,
And it whispered the word "content" into the winds
The kind you would hear after you kissed her lips
Or at least when you used to press your lips upon hers

And tomorrow you will see her glow with happiness
The kind you see from a lonely child who finally felt love
Beautiful, exquisite, pulchritudinous, just to name a few
Those are the words that will come across your mind
When you see her pass you by

By then I will feel sorry for you
Because she finally moved on
She finally saw her true worth---her true beauty
And I will look at you and feel sorry
She overlooked your flaws, past, and mistakes.
She forgave you for your stupidity countless times
Accepted your selfishness and narrow mindedness
She made sacrifices for you,
MADE time for you when she had none,
Adjusted her life to make things work for you
To make things work with you
All those things that you could not do for her.

But now, you are nothing but a piece of her past,
A memory that is constantly fading,
An old flame that long disintegrated,
A photograph that has fallen on the back of her desk,
Or maybe you're all of that.

No. You are all of that.
And I feel sorry for you.
So sorry that you lost an amazing person
Someone who accepted every part of you,
Was willing to put up with everything,
Change her ways to make things work,
Someone who didn't give up so easily, and
Someone who would have never given up on you
The way you did with her.
I am sorry for you loss.
Martin Narrod Jun 2014
Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.
Hannuh Jacey Oct 2012
Exposure,
plenty of light,
nothing uncovered,
or too much left unknown.
Through the lens, which he can't see but only thoughts and ideas he scatters through his shutter.
The rain can be captured quickly and in large amounts.
The press of a button and the stress is released, a flash of light and lightening coincide
crash
electrify.
Fighting the storm, protecting his truths and love.
He still trudges ahead; heart in hand.
Recording his sight, capturing the beauty.

Making it home, he doesn't think twice, he places his heart back in its chest and moves on downstairs.
Walking tall and soaking wet,
avoids looks or stares that come his way.
Piecing his mind back together, missing pieces lost outside in the horrible weather.
He'll keep on aching and asking himself questions, as slowly as the night air dries his split hairs, he can slowly rethink the choices he's made.
Sept. 8th, 2008 - 3:30 p.m.
Chris T Apr 2014
Fresh caught fish and chips
at the harbor side shop - fog.
Tourists' photograph.
More food poems

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