Shrapnel
City of broken promises,
goodbye.
No mercy on these mean streets.
Your pale skies and grey faces
darken the landscape of Europe.
Cold shoulders turn on lonely avenues
where smiles are safely hidden away
from strangers who drop diamonds in your gutters.
Tomorrow you can sweep aside
the remnants of my dreams
and from the dust,
sift pearls from the shrapnel
and put them in your pockets.
Long after the graffiti fades
and my farewells are long forgotten,
I will remember the chill of your October
and hear the echoes of Dutch whispers at midnight.
Copyright © Marty Windsor | Year Posted 2007
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