Pits
The coals pressed tighter
Beneath my daunted feet
As I breathe out
And not breathe in
In the famished mouth
Of this tarnished pit.
I don't need your pity,
I don't want your empathy,
You can stand like towers
And watch over me
And rise from the sores
Of this shrilling vale
But you would never know
What the pits
Told me.
poem by Norman Santos
Added by Poetry Lover
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