Quiet, the back sidewalks are, the cool night air static.
A longing whisp of what could be, shared thoughts and emotions.
A dull set of constallations specked over the city’s streets.
Lonely street lamps razing the dull hue that wains between dark night street
and cloudy gray night sky. Two red eyes glazed over, hung over, looking down
at me. The tower’s lights endless stare guiding me to my home.
A twelve foot by seven foot open cell, an open door prison.
The strangely smiling decorations remind me of a different time, glaring out from their hanging places.
Sunken my heart, once so brave, so ratheful, now tired, now withered.
A sad face filled with anguish, looking over a shadowed town, wishing for more.
A place to sit and think and share, where quiet is truth, not saught by busied few, not squandered on
guilty fray. Instead a war zone that lays at my feet, of rush hour and crime, mind games and grime.
No, my mind is filled, un focused, so strangled by that which saves me, tightly bound by that which I
need to survive.
Night time is so great on Halloween