forever night,
it seems,
the icy wind turns the city into a timber,
blowing mercilessly,
through concrete trees,
out here,
peace is an illusion,
a commodity,
sold to the highest bidder,
a costumed prank,
a politician's promise,
a pastor's assurance,
behind the busy faces,
a despair,
lies deep,
frozen in the ground,
a darkness unearthed,
a cave unexplored,
shit encrusted piles of street snow,
stacked in garbage dumps,
parking lots,
alley ways,
an ache,
in waiting,
feels like the universe wants to let go,
but it won't,
stress builds,
like tension on a chain,
I step out into the chaos,
as we know it will be,
someone down the street,
someone in the shadows,
the gentle voice of night,
I look to the sky for morning,
someone sits and waits,
someone bleeds through the fight,
no gentle voice of morning,
so I open the door to the night.
4 comments:
this is a hard one H.P. and there is nothing harder than
winter in the city after midnight. the few people who are out seem move with the pain of winter coursing through there veins, the cold, bleakness even as the sun starts its day casting cold light down on the remains. good poem man.
~robert.
here is nikki sudden a rare bird
who soars with a rhythm that breaks and winter storm. big store rocks.
http://freemusicarchive.org/search/?sort=track_date_published&d=1&quicksearch=nikki+sudden&page=2
Even in the midst of the apocalypse we need poems.
Gritty, good, and lyrical Dox.
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