Close Life.

Shoes upon the concrete stairs echo in the close
The hollow silence broken, in this chamber full of prose
Graffiti sprayed on every turn by the stupid and the dead
The atmosphere so thick and loud as folks sleep in their bed.
The senseless names who feel no shame at writings so obscene
And like the mason’s secret hand, they dare not be seen.

poem by Paul Colvin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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