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Mark Coburn Poem
Ripples like nipples,
Washed away by the oceans,
No time left to miss them,
Saturated by sentiment,
Now drying fast.
Copyright © Mark Coburn | Year Posted 2011
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Mark Coburn Poem
There is not time,
Hate runs eternal,
Enraging his soul.
Left to his own devices,
Eager not to fail,
Made his way to his destiny,
Measured steps,
Inside screaming,
Night closing,
Goodbye to fear.
Waiting, hoping,
Instinctive pondering,
Tell tale rivers,
Hasten from his eyes,
Inviting water,
Never see her face again
Copyright © Mark Coburn | Year Posted 2011
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Mark Coburn Poem
The gap is the space between the train and the platform,
To exit the train you must step over the gap,
You must always be cautious of the gap or you might get hurt,
Do not try to fill in the gap or the train will not be able to move,
Most people believe the gap is just empty space, those people are wrong,
The gap is neither scary nor dangerous if it is treated with respect,
You will forget the people on the train, but you will remember the gap.
When you stand up, the gap follows you, no matter where you are
The gap cannot physically look after you, but trust me it wants too,
While the gap has no superhero powers, it's very being would easily defeat superman in a
fight, no problem,
The gap can make you cry, but you must allow it to make you smile too.
Sometimes the gap blows you back so you don't get too close to a moving train.
Although the gap has no legs, it is in fact the best dancer ever.
Wherever you are, you are never more than a few metres away from the gap,
Nothing upsets the gap more than being ignored.
Knowing this information about the gap could save your life, it saved mine
Copyright © Mark Coburn | Year Posted 2011
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Mark Coburn Poem
When I walk up those stairs I'll say something profound,
Not cower, or cringe, gasping for sound,
But smile, and warmly offer my embrace,
Maybe not cry then exit the place,
I'll tell you how happy you make every day,
Not scream 'I love you', running away,
When you say 'Let me think', I'll reply just by nodding,
Not stalk down the street, flailing and sobbing.
And I won't be laying here, some eight years on,
Cursing and fretting 'cause things went so wrong,
'Cause when I walked up those stairs I said something profound,
Didn't cower, nor cringe while gasping for sound.
Copyright © Mark Coburn | Year Posted 2011
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