To the Night and My Fellow Owls:
Good Evening
Or
Good Early Morning
When there are few of us left
To roam the streets
Or lay on our beds
And avoid sleep.
The grey sky has infected our hands
And our eyes
And our dreams
Like the poison we willingly drink
To sink
And
To slumber.
If we should hoot
Into the twinkling night
Shall our call pierce the silence
That has so long accompanied us?
Shall we rest our heads
And find sorrow in sleep?
Or
Shall we remain awake
With our eyes devouring
The soft glow of our world?
YOU ARE READING
Cityscape
PoetryA collection of poems written in the city. Written for city folk who don't quite belong. And for everyone else who fall in between the cracks of 'here' and 'there.'
