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Thursday, 15 March 2012

Flash Poem # 2

An old red door
stands against a white wall
unhinged and unused
Chipped paint and rain warped
Neither an entrance nor an exit
and poses a question.

Can an old red door
leant against a white wall
Warped by the rain and with chipped paint
even be called a door anymore?

Or is it just a piece of old wood
Standing against a white wall
that once had a purpose
And now..................?

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