Best Poem of H.J. Shreeve

Despair
Despair,
A hole dug deep,
By bloody fingernails,
Dug deep,
By the strongest of men.

Many hands have scaled,
Her endless, dirty walls.
I bite my fingers in anticipation,
I taste nothing but mud,
My poor, cracked fingernails.

Look up,  
You no longer see,
Blinding . . .
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Home
It always rains in my hometown,
The clouds are kind enough to wash what they can away

The town cut out my tongue,
It grew back sharper and quicker than the one they stole.

I walk by the river,
Still black from the ones it took,
When my thoughts fall upon a deaf ear,
I begin to whisper.
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