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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
A loner, thinking..

Submitted: January 17, 2007

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Submitted: January 17, 2007



Tired, weary eyed

Cloudy, grim sky

Hands in my pockets

Walk on the street

Rain patters down

Petrol car stain round

Hot air from my lungs

Cold air from my world

Into the fields

With the golden crop yields

A tall hill

Windswept, grass covered

And it’s the same, same, same

Running around without a name

Wind on my face

Wishing for a better day

Say some words, for feeling

At all, life has no ceiling

And this hill I stand on

Better day

Cold stillness, presence of loneliness

But like a lone ranger.

Just walk on

Hands in duster pockets


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