First Edit: Cold Concrete Steps

[billy]

i'll say what i have to here so i don't screw the image up. first off i like that you've turned it into a concrete poem now it really matches the title. not sure [from is needed in L2, i'd put a comma after grey on L5. i'd put a period after Clouds on L6. i can see what you're doing with the last two line but it feels a little weak for me. a suggestion would to substitute worn for hurried. [just an idea to use or leave as you wish].
i like the way the poem feels a lot tighter, [less waste.] the concrete image is nigh on perfect. i won't suggest making each step the same visual length as i would be a twat if i did 100% better and one of the better first edits i've seen for a good while. well done.

Cold Concrete Steps                                                                                                             
                                                                                
                                                                                                              Hurried
                                                                                                    from fear of being late,
                                                                                          cracks whisper
                                                                                to familiar feet.
                                                                      Grey muted
                                                            by storm clouds,
                                                  snow quietly settles
                                        into corners, crevices.
                              No one listens to that language
                    of chipped surfaces,
          hurried from fear
of being late.

Original:

Cracks from familiar feet
worsen with every step,
but go unnoticed each day.

Snow settles in corners, crevices,
pushed there by a wind
that used to give comfort.

Somehow even grey fades,
yet still solid against ungrateful
backsides, who'll curse the ice.

No one listens to that language
of chipped surfaces; deterioration
too easily left behind.