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Poetry By: moonphish

this isn't me

Submitted:Nov 16, 2012    Reads: 13    Comments: 3    Likes: 1   

a cynic will smell flowers

and then look around for coffins
the shield around their heart
is made out of iron that never softens
the bluebirds that bring joy
are only seen as flocks of vultures
the lucky charms for some
are superstitions in their cultures
the glass that seems half full
has spilled the milk of human kindness
the forest hides the trees
and they thrash wildly in their blindness
those lovely shooting stars
become cruel comets to destroy them
there's cackles in each laugh
so they are warned not to enjoy them
the hand thrust out in greeting
holds a knife meant to devour
the fruit inside is sweet
but they won't peel the rind that's sour
they won't suspend their disbelief
to see the hidden magic
and so they lose their childlike charm
and what could be more tragic ?
so when you smell a flower
and i hope you do quite often
please think of nature's wondrous joy
and not of some damn coffin


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