Eyes closed, pink and orange glows with ghosts of my last vision,
the twitching etch of my optic nerve dances and flees my chase,
eyes open, new light passes my lens, my brain again in bloom.

The squeaking of stolen shoes follows me down this deserted street
Looks like he stole them in legalese as in his BMW he takes a seat
He looks like every empty office soul just counting days and money
Just another worker bee blankly gathering someone else’s honey.

A saffron sky greets the night,
She loves drama upon her arrival,
Moonlight washes across her world,
Another turn in our eternal cycle.

The writer,
an introverted soul
but needs to get out to gain inspiration
hurriedly gathering,
then returning to comforting solitude
to write down the horrors
of out there.


One thought on “Lights

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