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I WANNA FLY,
I WANNA FLY HIGH
SOAR THROUGH THE SKY

I WANNA FLY,
LIKE A BIRD,
WITH NOTHING TO BE SCARED OF
WITH NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF

I WANNA FLY,
IN THE OPEN SKY
WITH BRIGHT SUNLIGHT IN THE DAY
WITH DAZZLING STARS IN THE NIGHT

I WANNA FLY,
WITH THE SUNLIGHT ON MY SKIN
WITH THE MOONLIGHT ILLUMINATING THE SKY

I WANNA FLY,
I WANNA FLY HIGH
SOAR THROUGH THE SKY
LIKE I’M BORN TO BE AIRBORNE
I'M STILL VERY YOUNG. MY WRITING IS NOT VERY GOOD BUT ITS GETTING BETTER. POEMS THAT I WRITE MEAN A LOT TO ME. I,M 13.
Max Neumann Jun 2020
apart from the city, steven is sleeping
his fur is made of sunlight
steven's retinals, archives of memories, are glowing

beneath is a lake that reflects the shining
steven's relaxed glimpse swims on the surface
earlier, his pack was murdered

above his head, an orbital cloud is floating
ghosts of the dead ones
urge to communicate

across the lake, a maze of wishes
drifts through the water
empty faces, eyeless and earless
Today is a good day.
Kaitlin Jun 2020
In this moment,
All swamp air and sunlight spotlight,
Sat atop an old oak log,
I wonder
Who listened
To the swansong sinking melodies
caught between opulence and open water.
Who will listen
To our deep-space golden records
lost between planet and pale blue dot.
Who is listening
To my hushed hums on an old oak log
that once fell and may have made a sound.

I wonder.

And I listen.
Is anybody listening?
Alicia Moore Jun 2020
When the sun ultimately bleeds from its circumference,
We will burn
in beauty;
in grace.
through magenta clouds
dazzling shards of eve sunlight
did cleverly cut
Luna Maria Jun 2020
while we
let the sun kiss our skin
we watched the sky
through the leaves
and talked
about the weight of the world
which is laying on the shoulders
of our generation
these days are making it worth to stay.
Nick Stiltner May 2020
Ephemeral Dust, Primordial Soup
Essence in swirl,
Conscious of Unconscious
Thoughtless, Sway like a Leaf.
Under sunlight, Rejuvenation
Under moonlight, Exhalation
Vacant Plane, I wonder in Circles
Gnosis, I have to break these Chains  
Realization drenches over me
Smiling alone in the Rain.
Samara May 2020
your gunpowder steel
on my sycamore blues
haunted by vanity
on a string just out of reach
escape the perpetual debt
we have to our makers
captive in sun strewn streaks of shade
never to feel the warmth of its gaze
willingly judged by sunburnt noses
for being less than
I just want to sparkle
in the ultraviolence.
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