Poetry.

Cold, Hard, Chair

slipping… slipping…

Wet, Brown, Hair

Dripping… Dripping…

as the pipes gush as dark as night,

the chill of the wind pursuses me,

like a glass jar breaking,

Cutting me as i am taken aback,

The DRIPPING sound renews me.

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Comments (5)
  • Jack on Mar 26, 2010

    For a starting poet you are pretty good…!

  • rhys on Mar 26, 2010

    very touching. really conveying the lost hope of the protagonist and his loss of life. I can really feel his hardship great poem. I hope to hear more of you Glen

  • Tim on Mar 26, 2010

    the title makes no connection too the poem???

  • Mr. X on Mar 26, 2010

    Rubbish Lame get a new Job…

  • karl king on Mar 29, 2010

    i liked it

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