The Shape of Things That Go and Come

The shape of things that go and come The shadows shake the window through trees in the night My memory of pictures flash in front of me in the white moon light I want to forget you but we both know it’s not a fair fight To you I am a reason not to walk down the street alone for fright To me you are the steam rising from the city streets under a cold misty ritual rite The rivers and the buildings make for monsters to grow through imagination and images of shadows which are real in the time of midnight I have to turn my head away before my mind is transfixed by the stories I think of neither slight nor subconsciously trite To bed to dream of new visions but always tainted by the window but I must say goodnight