A Lonely Chair
A lonely chair,
Its sits all alone,
Sits with a green pillow,
Who doesn’t speak its language,
Or even care,
For it did not place itself there,
And if it even had the choice,
It wouldn’t be on that lonely chair,
So the chair sits there,
All alone,
With its old fabric,
And dull dye,
And its stuffing nothing but lumps,
And the green pillow,
With no where to go,
Doesn’t talk or even say hello,
To the lonely old chair,
For it has sat there,
In it’s home corner,
In a house left long ago,
By people who could not,
Could not take it any more,
No one has seen them since,
And in the future, no one will,
But the chair sits,
Sits there in the house,
In a house with a door,
With a door that will never be opened.
Rockandroll-I-did-not-write-this-poem-Freak!
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Aband1d (rockandrollfreak), on Flickr
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Aband1d (rockandrollfreak), on Flickr
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Aband1d (rockandrollfreak), on Flickr
bct-68.jpg by
Aband1d (rockandrollfreak), on Flickr