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Owl EyesGentle wordsShining like arches of lightAgainst a spacecraft's portal glass.The city sleeps beneath usAs you, without question,Allow me to discoverThe world I lost to time and indifferenceSo many years ago.Your warm and loving kindnessComforts me even in the furthest reachesOf outer space.Here with youI feel a new kind of peaceAmong the echoes of the future.Among these February lights.
The MistakeWhat do you mean, the spell didnt work?Lawrence blinked at his friend while trying to figure out the best way to tell him. Jim had always prided himself on his looks and this little mishap was clearly going to upset him.Well, Lawrence said carefully. Its not that noticeable.Jim didnt seem convinced. He scrunched up his brow and made a beeline for the mirror. Not wasting a second, Lawrence leapt in front and spread this arms out wide so that the billowing sleeves of his robe completely obscured Jims line of sight.Move it.You dont want me to. Trust me.Move it already!Lawrence sighed and stepped out of Jims way. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself for the shouting-fest that was sure to follow. Since the two of them first met in their first year of wizard school, Jim had been the vainest, sha
Artist's BlockArtists Block(to the tune of Exodus by Evanescence)My black staedtler filled with hopes and ink.Twenty minutes, Ill sit down to think.Never thought I would get better a-a-a-a-at this.Thought it a thousand times but no-o-o-o-ow Im losing hope.Here in my bedroom,I tryTo draw.I know Im not very goodBut Im not giving up this early on.Months of practice and its pretty slow.Sketchbook screams out and I whisper no.Pens gone dry, my pencil broke, I do-o-ont know what to draw.Giving up is not an option, try-y-y-y-ying this hard.Turn to a fresh page.Try itOnce more.Im still not very goodBut thats why I cant quit this early on.Here in my bedroom,More inkMore lines.One of these days Ill get goodAnd then it will a-a-a-a-all have paid off.Show me the artist who doesnt have to try.So I will keep trying til its right.
If I Were EmployedIf I Were Employed(to the tune of If I Were a Boy by Beyonce)If I were employedGoing to work every dayId get up on time every morningAnd put on something boringAnd go.Id smile and say hi,As coworkers arriveClocking in at the officeNo ones doing what they wantedAnd someone moved my cheese.If I were employedI think my passion would fadeBut at least I could pretendGood god, at least Im getting paid.Be stuck nine to fivePushing papers all day.When you lose a job you hatedYou still miss your measly earningsCuz now your income has gone away.If I were employedId be stuck answering phonesAsking them to hold pleaseAs I transfer them to higher paid drones.Id help customers outNo matter how long it takesAnd do exactly what my boss says,Even though it sounds like a big mistake, big mistake.If I were employedId be a proud corporate slob(Oh-oh-oh-oh)Id do everything they want,While trying to find
The Raven TreeWiping the tears away from my eyes, I sign my name. I sign the way I usually sign, with big unnecessary swirls so that the reader has something fancy to be impressed by. This letter gets my calligraphy out of habit, or, more likely, out of respect. Either way, it hardly matters. This letters recipient will never see it.Oh, Jamie, I miss you so much. Ive cried so many tears I feel like theyre about to run out, although, of course, they never do. The only thing that ever seems to run out is my strength. I havent even got the energy to still be angry at the drunk driver who took your life.Attempting to reread the letter, as I always do with letters before folding them, I barely make it past the first line.Dear Jamie,That says it all. The futility of hope is unbearable. As I fold the letter to bury it in a drawer, I hear a quiet tapping at my window.