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Sitting wishing waiting
what good can come from it all
Upon the squeaky wooden chair
Armrests ready to fall

Blanking thinking at first
That some slight change in the ceiling
Would change this dreary sight
And halt the laps of dreaming

My eyes in stillness static
As a swift sound surprised me
And my thirst was satiated
As the sound reached me

A rapid knocking on my door
Someone trying to say hello
But my response was too belated
Since the trance I still bore

When I pulled the rotten wood
Of my broken unlocked door
No one answered, no one stood
On the mat laid on the floor

Next to door and mat and porch
Was an unlabeled box hastily put
With no one on sight no care on my mind
I took and placed it on my chair inside

With the lamplight on the wooden chair
Giving life to the mystery inside
I took a breath of stale air
To find out what this box had to hide

My nails breaking the tape
And drawing from the mystery whole
I threw the box against the bricked wall
Stacks of blank papers flying

Back on my chair I sat
With a heavy hole in my chest
Where the ink within runs dry
Where my rusted pen rests

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