Unnamed 16 Poem by Salph Rage

Unnamed 16



The sound of the clock.
My daily judgment.
It plucks at me.
Like feathers being torn.
One second at a time.
My only solace,
The sweet sweet tone.
Calling me to retort.

Salph Rage
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
poem poems torn
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Poems By Salph Rage
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Unnamed 16
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