When the city sleeps ,
in the limbo ,strange bodies
writhe and moan ,
searching for their shadows.
Lost echoes,tear each other apart
in the dew of yawning throats ,
as primal scream erupts...
The lampposts absolve the hanged
who lingers at the speakeasy tavern
after having a last drink with a real rascal.
Fear not, the fallen angel is a good guy !
Watchman of dusk ,stirring
the fire of your divine solitude...
So the pistolero steps out of the lullaby ,
setting out to preach the destine of the gentiles...
when the city sleeps ,we'd grab a cry baby Barbie
that blends half-naked in the darkness,
disturbed minds, don't neglect your vesper rituals...
Once the city sleeps,
darkness awakens,
attuned to the heavy burden of the unspoken .
enlightened midnight's Buddhas
overturning the cosmic hourglass
that grants the imagination a spark ...
Somewhere a Metropolis lies ,
its phosphorous eye stare fixed on the poet
bowed above a scrawled parchment .
And that weary trembling little flame
tapping its last inspired telegraph
in the rapture of a endless night ...
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Author:
lorenz (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: October 22nd, 2026 11:01
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 12
- Users favorite of this poem: Ellen Marsell, RSM0812, Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments3
A poem about a night that turns out to be much more than the interval between sunset and sunrise. The images seem to exist on the threshold between two states, between worlds.
When the city sleeps and thoughts drift in creative insomnia ...
Is that watchman from the book of Enoch? Their baby giants ran out of food and started eating men. A dazzling read my friend
Perhaps a disturbing figure that I carry within me ?
Only if you were created before that heavens were conceived of. Well done
Damn, Lorenz...Iām fascinated, but Iād be checking behind me every few steps. Definitely keeping my keys in my hand! š¹š¤ššÆļøš¦āā¬
Let's keep the door open for night travelers !
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