stdClass Object
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    [ID] => 17441
    [post_author] => 16
    [post_date] => 2016-10-05 10:56:48
    [post_date_gmt] => 2016-10-05 10:56:48
    [post_content] => Each sequence of creaks is the same.
When I was light enough to scamper
that sequence would slide through my chest –
an adult approaching. My book would
plunge to nothing,
and only my little clenched hands
reassure me of its existence.

This evening as I climb to my room, weary,
those same creaks sound,
and even though I know this to be my effect
that sequence glows and tumbles
to my chest.
Trembling, I falter, and realising my lost self,
am even more frightened than my younger being.
    [post_title] => Stairs
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => stairs
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2016-11-11 10:51:12
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-11-11 10:51:12
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=17441
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2016
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem is a winner in the August Challenge #2  on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2016.oets up to the age of 25.
[wpcf-rights-information] => [wpcf-poem-award] => Winner, August Challenge #2 2016 [wpcf_pr_belongs] => ) [poet_data] => stdClass Object ( [ID] => 17423 [forename] => [surname] => [title] => Chris Matthews [slug] => chris-matthews [content] => Chris is a winner in the 2016 Young Poets Network August Challenge #2. ) )
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 17423
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Chris Matthews
    [slug] => chris-matthews
    [content] => Chris is a winner in the 2016 Young Poets Network August Challenge #2.
)

Stairs

Chris Matthews

Each sequence of creaks is the same.
When I was light enough to scamper
that sequence would slide through my chest –
an adult approaching. My book would
plunge to nothing,
and only my little clenched hands
reassure me of its existence.

This evening as I climb to my room, weary,
those same creaks sound,
and even though I know this to be my effect
that sequence glows and tumbles
to my chest.
Trembling, I falter, and realising my lost self,
am even more frightened than my younger being.