By Tony DeLorger © 2013
Steps softly pad through darkest night,
echoes hushed by a baleful stillness,
the buzz of distant traffic moaning.
A door closes, eyes withdraw into light,
leaving inquisitive thoughts,
of life outside.
Street conversations, short, abrupt,
dishevelled men follow long legs and a promise,
round corners, out of sight,
cars come and go,
like a procession of anonymous lives,
giving, taking, apprehension and boredom,
mixed into the grit of night.
Street lamps cut through,
sharp edged realities, in rows, avoided,
shadows wisp, tarry like theatre players,
painted on the grain of wood and coloured cement,
on corners, more hushed voices whisper,
convictions confirmed, deals pledged,
and way off, buried in the streets,
echo the rage of discontent,
the screams of resistance,
and the violent dreams of torturous life.
Step by step,
dream by dream,
exploding into night,
reliving, escaping, searching for a place,
anywhere but here,
and I walk on,
my bottle firmly in my pocket,
mind spinning webs of disconcerting images.
Blackened youths milling,
leaning back, hands fidgeting,
lungs filled with smoke,
eyes searching for opportunity.
And I walk on,
my steps like the beating of life,
time lost in a dark ballet,
until the home light beckons,
and I too withdraw,
into the warm red light,
where the city night ceases,
and a bottle guides a mind to rest.
Life bleeds like a pumping vein, everywhere you choose to look.
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