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worn-downPoems
I walk through this city blue Writing books of unwritten verse From simple, daily, conversations Jotted down on cheap notepads A couple walks together, same routine Adopted from uncounted years, together A cigarette hangs from cracked, chapped, lips His cane taps out a rhythm, hobbling along Sounds overlap, reverberate off cinder block walls Voices blend into seamless harmony A lonely man sits alone in his apartment Surrounded by books stacked on creaking shelves Waiting on a call, just to hear her voice Cars come but never go, an endless procession Ebbing & flowing, tides of gasoline & steel Filling blank lines with mass produced ink While I watch a game of chess in the park Strategies countered by intuition, or luck Blind to the outside world, they play on Paint chips off walls as blurred faces walk by Cracked concrete crumbles by paces & strides Only to be overrun by sprouting, spiny, weeds Crushed into pulp by careless, rushing, feet Beats of a jazz quartet, pouring from an open door Echoing down empty hallways, finding my ears by chance I'll keep walking, through this blue city, until I find you once again I wrote a letter to you, my love, to this day its not been sent
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Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:03 AM UTC
Blue City
I walk through this city blue Writing books of unwritten verse From simple, daily, conversations Jotted down on cheap notepads A couple walks together, same routine Adopted from uncounted years, together A cigarette hangs from cracked, chapped, lips His cane taps out a rhythm, hobbling along Sounds overlap, reverberate off cinder block walls Voices blend into seamless harmony A lonely man sits alone in his apartment Surrounded by books stacked on creaking shelves Waiting on a call, just to hear her voice Cars come but never go, an endless procession Ebbing & flowing, tides of gasoline & steel Filling blank lines with mass produced ink While I watch a game of chess in the park Strategies countered by intuition, or luck Blind to the outside world, they play on Paint chips off walls as blurred faces walk by Cracked concrete crumbles by paces & strides Only to be overrun by sprouting, spiny, weeds Crushed into pulp by careless, rushing, feet Beats of a jazz quartet, pouring from an open door Echoing down empty hallways, finding my ears by chance I'll keep walking, through this blue city, until I find you once again I wrote a letter to you, my love, to this day its not been sent
worn-down
Written by
worn-down
33/M/American
Oct 4, 2010
Oct 4, 2010 at 5:03 AM UTC
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