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Cell Of A Door

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Locking the door

With unhealthy distrust.

Shutting out the world

In a home full of dust.

Untouched and alone,

Lights stay off after dusk.

White bed sheets of bone--

The morning sun turns to rust.

The End
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Tad_Winslow You're currently reading the poem Cell Of A Door, which was posted on Dec 20, 2009 by Tad_Winslow.

This is a collaborative poem.

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