Fourth of July

September 3, 2011
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you and I sat,

in the back,

of your old brown pick up truck.

Our feet stuck out the tailgate,

and it felt like our hands were meant to be stuck,

finger to finger,

palm to palm.

The night was beautiful and calm,

and just like the firecrackers

your dad threw out the window

to try and make us jump,

We spark brightly,

and fade,

then glow softly,

like the retreating light of the day

blurring gently around the edges

of the horizon.

Like the mortars we lit up

side by side

we fly wildly

and fall

floating softly back to earth,

and elegant dance.

God knows where we'll land.

But i hope it's hand in hand.

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mikey122 said...
Nov. 14, 2012 at 10:20 pm
great poem 7 9
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