Best Poem of L.W. Smith

Thoughts After Running Out Of Gas
There’s a certain eeriness before light
Birthed from the serenity of lonely hearts

She’s in her kitchen right now
He’s on the floor and wishing hard

A ripple across the flawless plane of silence
Echo from beneath tattered DC sneaks

No station open
Everyone’s asleep

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Revival
Such a horrid thought appeared this eve
Whilst the lonesome raven perched in the tree
And his ghastly eyes burned hot upon me
I shiver and think “it cannot be”

Lurid as a summer day
Obscure as the chime of children at play
Vulgar like the sun in May

Dare I say
DarE I say . . .
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