photo by Stephen Alsford
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Dusk rolls over cities Like a mist, Monuments in concrete Twilight kissed; Neon windows sparkle As Christmas tree stars, Whilst the weary office Friday crowd Wanders aimlessly to bars. Deeper into evening, Hours slip by ... Watching faces, yours reflect In mirrored eyes. The game goes one step further – You get to your feet And, with the mindless bodies, sway and writhe To hypnotic, pulsing beat. Skirting brief encounters Until the shock: Glances meet electric, Hold and lock; Features like a goddess You want to caress, And then a honeyed voice gives sound to thought, "Come with me," she says. Down the darkened alley Switch-blades flash, Tom-cats yelp and scatter, Dustcans crash, Warmth spills out on cold earth And paints it red; And when at last the light splits silence The living all have fled. Our voice is the sun, The wind and the driving rain; But if now we hold our tongues We may never get the chance to speak again. The first rays of the morning Grope their way Through the maze of buildings To that place Where a crowd has gathered No-one weeps, And plain-clothes policemen shake their heads And long to get some sleep .... |
| (1975) |
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photo by Stephen Alsford |
| Created: November 17, 2014. Last modified: July 9, 2015 | © Stephen Alsford |