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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=572926" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Solo.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The hail beats the tin roof of this old house <br>like a previous century stoning <br>the ice crashing on the corrugated steel <br>is reminiscent of a <br>Rick Allen solo <br>The idiot in me keeps looking up <br>as if the steel pressed ceiling is taking the beating <br>The angle these golf ball icicles are coming at <br>concerns the large glass window panes <br>they look like they'll shake themselves <br>into cracks of disaster across <br>the wooden floor boards <br> <br>I fold myself into a ball <br>on the leather couch <br>covered in last nights jacket <br>and comforted by my latest Amazon acquisition <br>&quot;Mockingbird Wish Me Luck&quot;<br>I suffer the noise to read magnificence <br>then realise <br>this house echoes without you <br> <br>It's been far to long, I need you <br>just to sit here and say nothing <br>just to be here and touch <br>just to make this book worth reading <br>I find the poem <br>the poem I wanted to read, the one <br>&quot;Girl in a miniskirt reading the bible&quot; <br>that poem<br> <br>As I edge into the page <br>I realise I don't remember what earrings you wear, <br>how many gold bangles rest on your arm <br>or how long your legs are <br>I realise <br>that you don't move to my symphony <br>move to my rhythm <br>and I don't play it for you <br>I don't play it for you, any longer <br> <br>You were once my god</div><div style="margin:10px 0">[.]</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alistair+Plint">Alistair Plint</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=572926" data-title="Solo. de Alistair Plint" data-description="The hail beats the tin roof of this old house 
like a previous century stoning 
the ice crashing on the corrugated steel 
is reminiscent of a 
Rick Allen solo 
The idiot in me keeps looking up 
as if the steel pressed ceiling is taking the beating..."></div>
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