In this cool twilight
where we lay
and say our prayers
we grimace at each
sound that stills the
quiet moon.
The motorcade of misery
and bustle of metal cart;
these lashing tongues of
crunching words
bounce heavy on these slats.
Light plays against dark
without sleep
in its wide eyes.
I blink into the gloom
to recount
each retold story by the wise.
In this cool twilight
nestle deep into the
dreaming, ‘fore the
passing madness
finds a passing shine
upon the ceiling.
So unusual, I like it 🙂
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