a poem without 'I'
night holds the sky up
and the cars have gone to sleep
a living thing sits alone
the walls are shivering cold on the outside
but comfortably warm on the inside
this living thing
is the opposite
to the walls
it feels heat in its face
and on its arms
but is cold and clenched inside
short breathes
quick looks
out the window
up the hall
working like it matters
but it isn't aware
despite the time it has invested
that the work doesn't matter
that no one will see it
a drink waits unopened
and small figurines watch patiently
but it just keeps working
Poetry by Blue River
Read 609 times
Written on 2009-02-23 at 09:55
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