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Evening
night falls
a velvet blanket
wrapping the world

the city settles, falls asleep
the red light in the distance
like Gatsby's beacon
calls me home

white bony fingers of smoke
curl up from the light
at the tip of the cigarette
pulsing with each breath
mirroring the distant beacon

I am adrift in an ocean
And the beacon calls me home



Poetry by grizzedram
Read 438 times
Written on 2013-02-16 at 04:09

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Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
This is quite nice, Grizzedram.
2013-02-17