The turning streets
Uneven gutters
Falling rain
Shops eyes shuttered
Sunday still
In working clothes
The growling skies
A bitter cloak.
Homeless shadows
Hopeless ways
Winters approach
In dismal days
A different town
Strangers glare the same
The ragged man
In lifes brutal phase.
A birthday remembered
From a distant place
No candles flame
No happy face
Each step heavier
As he walks on
No good samaritan
No warming sun.
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Author:
nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson) (
Offline) - Published: September 29th, 2025 02:42
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 27
Offline)
Comments3
The voice of the city and the voice of loneliness.
I liked the rhythm of the poem.
Short lines, like the sound of footsteps.
most kind, thanking you and appreciated
Sad, lonely and desolate are words that come to mind with this poem. Isolated on a sea of people, nothing more lonely than that. Nicely done it casts a mood.
thanking you, appreciated
Most welcome
difficult to take in all the misery of the world on top of our own...
true, though the uk is split so decisively
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