Spending A Night In The Big City
But the road is long
And hard burdened with regrets
Han-Shan
It seems now and here, far from the fields
Where nights gather light and the weary
Thoughts of another day's labor, done and
To come, into a welcome respite, the street
Grows dark as blinds are lowered, curtains
Drawn, the faint lights behind them going on
And then out, the sound of doors being locked
Less to keep strangers out than solitude in.
Even in the dark there are shadows where
The homeless cat settles in its usual doorway
And the street lamp's unnatural yellow light,
A few stars yellow too in summer's last heat
And haze, though there is no one to notice.
What goes on behind these closed doors seems
Rite and ritual, not the religion of the child
For whom the consequences of belief were
Too far away then to even be considered, but
The knowing through the long years after
That they have already been judged and found
Undeserving of anything like redeeming grace.
Poetry by countryfog
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Written on 2015-09-25 at 02:40
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Lawrence Beck |
josephus |