The city sleeps
under layers of smoke and travelling birds.
The people keep
on walking and talking, inhaling desire and exhaling cracking fire.
What else would the smoke feed on?
The city dances,
covered in artificial lights and hazy sunsets.
The people live
on folded rolls of smoke and swaying hips under the drunken moonlight.
How else would they drown their madness?
The city screams,
betrayed by the people,
who now despise the smoke and the haze
and wait for the light of the breaking dawn.
YOU ARE READING
Lighthouse
PoetryA lighthouse is your only hope in the vast ocean and you can only hope the crashing waves won't tear it apart. Poems that I wrote in order to live. Each photo that is accompanying each poem is mine, representing memories which go back years. © Alex...
