White empty chairs
All lined in a row
At midnight a breeze whispers
The trees groan and shake
Then awake to welcome
The men, women and children
Who trudge down the aisle
Pleased to be home
Their weary, shadowed bones
Sit in the white chairs
And when the sun rises
They are gone again
* this poem is for the 185 people who lost their lives in the 2011 earthquake in Christchurch, New Zealand
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Little Poems
PoetryA little book of poems straight from the darkest depths of my weird brain
