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Poem: Cold
by Liam
Grey on grey the cold,
On the wave the white whipped
Froth blown crowns hold
Discontent, fly crying gulls
Flutter then huddle in rows
Beaks yellow, eyes beady roll
Cold holds this day in tight too
Fingers curled cold blue, sky
Feathers, each wanting flight
Need desperate to lift the dreary night
Towards the light of how and why we want warmth
Not of body, but soul
Full rich and song to penetrate
To emancipate the story of this life’s wrong.
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