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My Sister Megan
My Sister Megan
Megan really isnt my sister, shes more of a Chosen sister and I dont mean Step-Sister Either. We have been friends ever since we were at school; well we were until that dreadful day I had slipped out of my bedroom hidden under my anorak, the cold merciless air stung my face as I miserably trudged on. I kept quiet. If I was caught out of bed after 10:00 in the Home you got Grounded and put on Washing up Duty for a Month.
I have always lived in a Home, Ever since I was small, I never knew my parents.
I had reached the church gates, I gently sat on it swinging backwards and Forwards, An Old Childhood game that Megan and I had played. I silently jumped off and headed for the Graveyard, People reckon that Graveyards are spooky at night but really its just cold, lonely. I found her grave at the back, the fresh mound of earth and the spotless grave.
I felt tears running down my icy cheeks, f
What I Pine for...I sit in the car and wait, I dont listen to the sounds around me, I cant.
I dont mean Im mentally disturbed in fact everyone is always praising me for my endless efforts but I cant here their voices.
Im Deaf, Already Ten years old and one of my senses is gone.
In my dreams I hear, I hear my sister Lisa playing her sax, I hear my Brother arguing endlessly with my Dad.
I pine for my hearing back, I can remember myself wishing that I could hear.
Maggie? Lisa asked
I dont here, Lisa taps my shoulder and signals that she is going to drive away.
I nod and follow procession
On the way Home Lisa lets me choose an ice-cream from the Kwik-E-Mart, I suck at the Strawberry coating savouring ever last Mouthful.
Lis is the best Sister I could ever hope for
When I get home I go strait to my room, I climb on to my bed and wonder a thousand wishes if I would ever hear her sweet voice again.
I Lost my Hearing after played fell of the Jungle Jim
Let the Sparrows InI.
Blackbirds rest on the power lines,
their silhouettes form the notation
to a dawn song set on the sheet music
of telephone poles contrasted by the sun.
Curled leaves are land mines littered
on the lawn where imprints of twigs
and a nurturing robin's tracks collect.
Branchlets and leaflets stem from
porch step railings and mailboxes;
the numbers read odd on the east,
even on the west side of the asphalt:
The engraved letters on
the siding reads, "Davis."
This house is home to family
so let the sparrows in.
with its branching hallways
furniture rooted to the floor
family, friends, the occasional
out from home.
Let the sparrows in; let
Let the door's
loosen—let the door stand ajar
be let open
the night owls and
let the doves
in pairs in the iridescent
Let the sparrows in.
Framed on either side
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More