The h2g2 Poem

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Beneath the Surface

Chip... chip

Until the chisel does slip

You've lost your grip

Could not cut stone

Hoping to reach bone

An axe, you hone

A chance you will take

For a point you must make

I'll not quake

Remember when you swing

A blade is a fickle thing

It will do more than sting

When you open your fist

And see through the mist

That you have cut your own wrist

I see your sneer

As your mask turns sheer

Exposed beneath the veneer

It's such a fright

To realise you are such a blight

Begone from my sight

The once-lovely face

Gone without a trace

Darkness left in its place

The light has left

A soul bereft

As if it had been a theft

Was it fun to mope?

Did you broaden your scope,

Or enjoy the slippery slope?

smiley - birosmiley - birosmiley - biro

Poetry by Evangeline


05.04.07 Front Page

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