The steps walk dry,
cloudy eyes,
the bones vibrate
in the echoless wind.
Some voices dance in hollow alleys
other dreams die in the dim light.
Hunger drags the skin.
The rain caresses without a name.
The cold writes on the flesh
a poem that no one reads.
They were kings of invisible streets,
heroes of forgotten trails,
are ashes that float,
pieces of a world
who sleeps without seeing them.
Echoes slide in the dirty buildings,
steps cut through time
on the faceless asphalt.
Fallen moons reflect silences,
old sheets cover broken dreams.
Every shadow carries a faded name,
every look rests without witness.
The city pulses, indifferent,
while the heroes sleep
under the cold promise of dawn.
Superb work.
Super thank you! 😉
There is so much here. Images feelings everywhere.
Great work
Appreciate you! 😊
Brilliantly penned, PAR. Incredible imagery and an outstanding write my friend. Appreciate you.
Damian
Big hugs, Damian.