there is nothing to do, nothing to say <br />nothing like the nothingness of the cold <br />wind that blows across and about the way. <br />empty as the soup-filled lives of the old, <br /> <br />as silent as the soft white snow that falls <br />on the roofs of the houses and the tips <br />of the grass, and inside these old brick walls <br />the children's breath puffing like red steam ships <br /> <br />mimics the gray smoke of those who only <br />smoke when under stress or when there's nothing <br />else to do or say. The people, heat-lonely, <br />wait for the power, the light, everything <br /> <br />they can't live without. A knock at the door <br />brings good tidings: heat is here, hear its roar!<br /><br />gina prettybrowneyes<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/nothing-118/
