When Bees get Lonely This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

February 27, 2010
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Seven-thousand nine-hundred-and seventy octangular suns
and none of them were made for you.
Drunk on golden syrup
and too heavy for your own wings,
you’ll drift in and out of the reality some genius named ‘the sky’.
Flowers tangle among each other to strangle cobwebs.
The earth’s getting old and you feel like being younger.
Paint yourself yellow with scars of black
because contrast is interesting and drama is too.
Seven-thousand nine-hundred-and seventy octangular suns
and none of them were made for you.





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RiverSong said...
Jun. 22, 2011 at 9:39 pm
I love this poem.  My favorite part is "Drunk on golden syrup and too heavy for your own wings, you'll drift in and out of the reality some genius named 'the sky'."  Well done!
 
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