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Literature Text
I have a riddle for you,
When is the night not scary?
When nighthawk peals pulse above parking lots,
And overripe lilac drapes invisible in the air.
When motionless rain holds cloying heat,
And moths flutter frantic backstrokes at the doorsteps.
When headlights are whispering ghosts down hollow streets,
And footsteps echo forever like shadows under streetlights.
When the neon signs drip illegible puddles on the cement,
And humanity is reduced to silhouettes behind blinds.
When is the night not scary?
When you're part of it.
When is the night not scary?
When nighthawk peals pulse above parking lots,
And overripe lilac drapes invisible in the air.
When motionless rain holds cloying heat,
And moths flutter frantic backstrokes at the doorsteps.
When headlights are whispering ghosts down hollow streets,
And footsteps echo forever like shadows under streetlights.
When the neon signs drip illegible puddles on the cement,
And humanity is reduced to silhouettes behind blinds.
When is the night not scary?
When you're part of it.
A poem, written after work, getting home late in the city. Dedicated to my Mother who knew the night better than anyone.
© 2015 - 2024 AliceNeola
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