A Poet's Dozen---Rush Hour
red tint of evening
bleeds across a glazed skyline…
crowds droop on bleak aisles
The street lamps wane beyond rush hour;
eyes missing the rarest flower…
And city lights drain people’s bones,
when aching shadows blur my view.
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Silent One's A Poet's Dozen Contest
11/5/2015
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2015
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