A Shell Poem by Walter C. Edwards
A Shell
A shell, a shallow,
next to the hunted soul,
greave into myself,
I must know this to well,
where do all the ghost go,
black as pitch bathed oneself,
evil heart that sucks my blood,
time taken away from me,
goal of the minimum wage.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
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4/26/2024 5:10:25 AM # 1.0.0.1119
