RESTLESS

A face on a flag, the wind

gives it voice.

 

Steam from the day retires

nights grasp.

 

Horns and lights, the blood

of cities, pull at the weak.

 

People envy the closure of circles,

the place where end

is welcomed and faces are

familiar.

 

Lights breathe onto

crowded shorelines where

people are the high tide of waters,

pulling at the skin

of the city.

 

 

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s