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Poetry Pleases: Vultures With Human Eyes

...A quick yank at the nylon, and it clicks into place
my eyes meet the wing mirror, and motion begins,
concrete and steel guides to the corporate wasteland, commencing search for a space
surrounded by vultures, with greased hair and seedy grins...

The world can often seem a cold, hostile place, as this poem by Edward J Spiers vividly reveals. Edward is a new voice in Open Writing. We welcome his words.

Looking out from my 6th storey window, day break
misery is in the air, and it takes me by the throat
clutching at my windpipe, I begin to wake
the wood separates and I take out my coat.

A quick glance at failure, looming back at me with weary eyes,
my hands caress the banister, as my feet meet the stairs
illumination, a flickering light greets me, surrounded by flies
a twist of steel, and I've never been so discontent, with just being seated in a chair.

A quick yank at the nylon, and it clicks into place
my eyes meet the wing mirror, and motion begins,
concrete and steel guides to the corporate wasteland, commencing search for a space
surrounded by vultures, with greased hair and seedy grins.

Motion has stopped now, how I wish it would start again,
the leather meets my unloving grip, as I'm ushered into my 9 hour grave.
Placing down my briefcase, I disengage my brain.
I wasn't born to be a computer: my freedom I crave.

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