Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Feb 19
Mists. Street lamps lights
are a tug lighting. A moored ship: closed estate.
The crew is sleeping. What are their dreams?

Harbor siren is mute. The world has already shrunk.
News from the neighborhood are arriving.
From very far. From another dimension.
Marcin Strugalski
Written by
Marcin Strugalski  43/M/Poland
Please log in to view and add comments on poems