Where the colours would fade,
these pieces are convincing us
to be more aware,
like soldiers
who’ve never marched before.
I’m listening
to the winds that speak,
squeezing through
the aging walls
like windows
when faced away from the sun.
In my awkward life
I’ve learned only
that the broken smiles
will crack
when those pretty girls
sometimes turn
to share their own.


About Sean O'Gorman

Spoken Word poet from Ottawa. View all posts by Sean O'Gorman

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