Streetlights
Early hours lost, dark clouds
Flapping in the winter wind,
Candles simmering with
Blue flamed concentration.
Words are sparse, just below
The crust of loneliness,
The march of thought dismissed,
In disarray, the boat of souls
Cast off bravely long ago.
It cannot last, this wash
Of constant neon slavery.
In silence, starving shadows
Lay low, like lurking cats
Longing for attention.
Copyright © James Fredholm | Year Posted 2016
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