Talking streetlamps

Footsteps echo, a dark dawn looms ahead,
Black waters flow, the night has come to an end…

The winds bring in desolate paper despair,
Streets wet from the city’s last dirty deal…

Alone he walks, trudging along the pavement,
The fear of his heart, held in a clenched fist…

Here’s what happened, in a gist,
There were talking streetlamps, between the mist…

A pier in murky water lay, still in shallow pond,
Abandoned ships on display, the waking sea yawned…

Swallowing his shadow, his long forgotten stain,
Morning bleak soaks him down, in cold prophetic rain…

Making his way behind the forlorn crane,
The choice he will make, a drug in his vein…

The revolver in hand, of truth and feign,
He takes his last, loaded shot of pain.

Siddharth Pathak | 23rd April 2013
NaPoWriMo Entry #9


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