The lives of cities are but winks
of a multitude of eyes
seen from the endlessness of space.


Hometown

Its skies are lovliest at night
when stars outshine the baleful light
of neon signs for skin care cream,
of daylight trends and gutter steam.

Its streets are forests for the dead -
the concrete ghosts - whose restless dread
crave daylight and the chilling noise
of Iphones, trams and yuppie toys.

I sometimes walk its greying halls
at dusk when stillness fills the malls
and Nothing clenches ancient fists
while whispering spells of Limbos' mists.

In seconds then, the forest floor,
is covered by a fog from shore
and dreamlike visions strikes me then
of frozen fjords beside a glen.

But dreams are dreams and rarely true -
the fading night leaves morning dew
to wash away the painful truth
that nothing known has endless youth.



Poetry by An-ders
Read 757 times
Written on 2012-01-23 at 01:29

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countryfog
This is somehow both concrete and etherial . . . baleful light and gutter steam, mist and fog, noise and stillness, stars and neon signs . . . the points and counterpoints of the impersonal city and our own small personal place in it. Very wll done An-ders.
2012-01-23


Hans Bump
Bookmarked this . I loved the juxtaposition of sites, tones, emotions and observations spoken in a manner that made everything seem self evident, with no explanation needed,
I understood.
Excellent.
2012-01-23