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Literature Text
A repeat of the ritual.
Another pint drained,
A roll-up relit.
Many times have I done this.
Hopeful glances, at the door
Each time it opens.
But then, I shake my head
In quiet, sardonic mirth.
Around me, laughter of lovers.
In solitude
With the corpse of anticipation
I wait.
Another pint drained,
A roll-up relit.
Many times have I done this.
Hopeful glances, at the door
Each time it opens.
But then, I shake my head
In quiet, sardonic mirth.
Around me, laughter of lovers.
In solitude
With the corpse of anticipation
I wait.
I wrote the first draft of this poem sitting in a pub. You can tell why I was waiting, cant't you....
© 2011 - 2024 Blyddyn
Comments3
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I miss random pub-inspired, napkin scribbled, creativity.