Woeful City

Rain beat synched
to a thousand steps
drowned by endless curtain
of grey and flounder

A drop kisses skin
messenger of above
indifferent to their plight
fall and be forgotten

Narrow are your streets
filled with mementos
a faulty light buzzes careless
scattering the alley’s shadows

Brick and mortar rot incessant
no one to pick the pieces
the rain shall sweep them aside
another memory down the drain

Heavy are the roofs
from steel rises high
to muddy shanties low
they can’t scare the cold away

Umbrellas stretch greedy
drinking the sky’s refuse
shifting under hesitant light
their faces remain unseen

O city uninterrupted
always falling to pieces
you grieve your children
swallowing them whole.

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Ours Is Absence

Lost in the fog of your daze,
you breathed color into my lungs.
You are my unknown, divine enigma;
a question rolling on the tip of my tongue.
Coquettish, playful, unanswered.
These doors were never opened to me.
I could not see your smile.
Disdain, I drink it, breathe it, make it mine.
Before January withered you were already gone,
without a chance, without forgiveness.
Memory slips past me, barely held by all these absences.
My lust ran after you, leaving my skin brittle from despondence.
Between atoms, I whispered my fears:
you, you, only you.

Dark Night On The Forest

The forest’s edge stands astride,
giving way to thoughts of obsidian tint.
Fingers of plutonian ore
swallow beast and tree
in despondent sigh.
No comfort comes from the starless sky;
the Moon is veiled in mourning.
Critters of leaf and grass lay unmoving,
fear held in dilated irises.
Those who own the night thread e’er softly,
seeking sacrifice to appease that old god, Hunger,
upon an altar of rotting leaves and cold soil.
But hark, dawn’s sword splits the blackness,
scattering the shadows away.
Respite comes with the morn’s first light,
under twinkling radiance shapes take form.
A new day strikes for the forest old.
Somewhere, not far, a bird sings indifferent.