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In the pitch of night
two knights shared a thought,
with a sword in each hand
as they slashed and fought
on the highest ramparts
of the crumbling fort.
Her pockets are never empty.
She says pockets are for running.
So she keeps them full,
Stuffs universes into them,
And says it is just the essentials.
A poem in which I am growing.
A poem in which I am a tree,
And I am both appreciated and undervalued.
We are staring at the moon
and I think for a second we become
Screaming at the stars,
growling at the idea
that this night might end
I have always wanted to be nocturnal,
To Live by the light of the moon.
There’s something about the stars – they’re eternal.
I pray the sun sets soon.
My little brother loves superheroes.
He wants to change the world,
get the keys to the city and save the girl.
I watch the films with him all the time,
I’m looking up into the sky
And I am thinking, how can it be this big?
Why is there so much of it?
How do we all fit?
I am thinking all these things
Green misled me into the woods.
Blue tried to drown me in the sea.
White smothered me in balls of clouds.
Yellow caught me on a double yellow line.
The Hairyboos were hairy, the Smoothyboos smooth.
But they lived side by side and were never rude.
Stand in line
So he did.
Toe the line
the dotted line