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John Edward Smallshaw
Poems
Feb 2020
Nightime
Footsteps echo off the polished floor
reflections in a vaulted corridor,
if I chose then I can hear more than
the echoes off the polished floor,
the possibility comes to me
that I
maybe all that I can see
a thought so frightening in its
intensity
that I close my eyes.
( and only hear the crescendo of
my rising fear)
Written by
John Edward Smallshaw
68/Here and now
(68/Here and now)
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