The snow doesn't fall
On the people of this city,
Angels of asphalt and traffic signs
Gliding softly through this wind-ridden labyrinth.
My part has changed
And my voice is dead
Since I left my pretty cardboard town,
The green lights shining on the children's faces.
Maybe someday I'll have the will
To watch without sound,
And then I'll know
Just where home is.
Copyright 2005 GraySky
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/8615/58805 on Thursday December 04th, 2008 02:15 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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