Gray Afternoon

Has someone spoken anywhere?
Are people passing words in places
I don't see, beyond these walls?
Is there a point to getting up
And going out beyond the urge
To smoke another cigarette?
Are hours meant to linger so?
I search my forehead with my
Fingers, finding in it only a
Repeated “I don't know.”



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 15 times
Written on 2011-11-05 at 14:16

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