Is it a coincidence that I have a wooden shelf,
A marching band of blind bottles with brittle corks,
Containing many of my screams.
No smoky dreams will come out if I polish them,
No three wishes, just terrified eyes and mouths,
That usually break glass but not those bottles,
Missing their messages and ships.
And all day I sit at my table, carving, screaming,
I have to, I have to!
My boots in the corner like open graves.
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Comments about this poem (The Cabin by Jan Hauck )
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