The doorsA Poem by William CoadThe doors, the door, they close on me. The doors, the doors, and how?
The doors, the doors, they close on me, across my mountainous brow.
Sometimes, sometimes, you wonder why, the doors, the doors, they close.
But times, sometimes, they close on me, and leave nowhere to go. © 2014 William Coad |
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Added on October 29, 2014 Last Updated on October 29, 2014 AuthorWilliam CoadSan Fransico, CAAboutI am a writer. I have been one for some time and will continue to be one well into the future. I have been known to write for a variety of mediums- films, poetry, comics, books- but haven't really gon.. more..Writing
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