The Moon hung low in the sky
like the tarnished reflection
of my soul on that night .
☆
A night spent rambling
down lonely streets of
derelict dream houses ,
with forbidding peaked
rooves ,
stretching high into the
gloomy dark like knives .
☆
Now and then ,
a sound made by something unknown ,
would drift on the dank air
or round some
threatening corner .
☆
Was there faint stirring
of grey curtain in a window ,
☆
A muffled cry behind
peeling paint of bolted door ,
☆
A soft voice sighing ,
straining against the wind to be heard ,
☆
But then , no-one was there .