What’s the Time- a poem by Shannacorn

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What’s the time?

The dawn’s broken, and the clock’s still.

As much as your silence is relaxing,

why not hear the electronic 8-bit shrills?

What’s the time?

Your stress is slowing the clocks.

You see the world in black and white,

so I brought you colored pencils and chalks.

What’s the time?

Your mind’s holding you back.

Write out your imagination here.

Pin it with a tack.

What’s the time?

Why do you believe it should be night?

The sun is awake for you,

if you’d just let in the light.

What’s the time?

Why does it matter?

If every moment is a gift as you say,

why does time matter?

The Blonde and Brunette- a short story by Shannacorn

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“Why do you look so sad?” the blonde girl asked from across the table. The bell was only minutes from ringing, and dismissing everyone to next period.

“Oh.” the brunette started, “I’ve just got a huge crush on the most impossibly straightest girl in school.”

“Really? Who is she?”

“I don’t want to say her name.”

“Well, how about I pretend to be your girlfriend. Make her jealous.” the blonde suggested, smiling prettily.

“Thanks.” the brunette laughed, “But she’s not the jealous type.”

“What’s she like then?”

“Popular. Smart. She’s always so happy. It’s so refreshing just to be around her. It’s no wonder she has so many friends and a caring boyfriend.”

“Well, how does she look? Is she pretty?”

“Stunning. She has clear milky skin, smooth dirty- blonde hair, and the biggest brightest eyes you’ve ever seen.”

“She sounds beautiful. Do you love her?”

“No, but I’d like to get to know her to see if I do.”

“Are you two friends?”

“No. To her, I’m probably just another face. I don’t think she even knows my name.”

“Oh.” the blonde sighed as the bell rang and students piled out of the room. She walked out to meet her boyfriend, her big bright eyes looking into his, and her clear milky skin contrasting to his tan.

The brunette was the last to leave. She smiled and whispered under her breath, “You always forget to ask my name.”

Lost In My Head- a poem by Shannacorn

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Keep me here in this beautiful place.

Colors rain down on me,

and enemies lose their face.

Wind carries me with clouds for wings.

Lost through a dimension of insanity,

Fear? No such thing.

These crazy monsters in my life,

the ones your so afraid of,

they do not fear you rusty knife.

These crazy monsters keep me sane,

and only the darkest of evils,

would the monsters maim.

But fighting isn’t for people like us, you and me.

We go, we see, we conquer;

But is that the way it’s supposed to be?

Now I know it’s confusing to grasp,

the idea of acceptance and freedom.

All you have to do, though, is release your asp.

Let your colors rain on you,

and let the wind carry your soul.

Know I’ll be there too.

You see, we’re all lost here.

No use to deny it,

so find yourself or give into fear.

As normal as I am dead,

the reason I’m like this is because I’m

Lost In My Head.

Listen! Listen!- a poem by Shannacorn

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Listen! Listen!

Can you hear the walls speaking?

Even if their lies are your end,

surely they are telling the truth.

In this crimson city, there’s a million lips,

all reassuring the city is of violet.

Yet, there are just as many ears.

They listen to your life, you know?

Then the ears invite the lips for tea,

chatting about flowers and pearls.

Even after the tedious gathering,

the walls soak and twist.

Their words bend over the air,

an addictive drug.

Our city has many walls.

Won’t you sit and listen?

Waiting- a poem by Shannacorn

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Waiting is a soft melody,

full of prolonged notes and soft touches.

You know a masterpiece awaits,

but each thought is your enemy.

Images come in roaring storms,

and forgotten words unfold in smeared ink.

Yet, I think of this vast blue kingdom,

and I know your here.

I’m here too.

However, we can’t meet.

It’s not our time says fate,

and it’s not our place says the king.

I know it’s a perilous journey,

especially to take on your own.

At the end, though,

I’ll be waiting.

The final note will ring,

and you’ll find your treasure.

My masterpiece finished,

our waiting will end.