Beneath gas lamps
black night skies
to eary sounds
of distant cries.
We walk streets
cobbled stones
through darkened alleys'
squalid zones.
In candle light
misery strains
through smudged glass
of dirty pains
from lonely rooms
in dancing light
that calls out
into the night.
A lack of hope
in darkened shame
black of night
in cold and rain
drips from eaves
to an icicle morning.
Clear and cold
and pointing down
austere spikes
hang down
as rods or bars
in front of pain class windows.
you'll have to stop walking down those dark alleys and come out into the sunlight.....good poem this one! Ruthy; -)
I really love this poem, from the beguiling title to the form, to the rhyme, rhythm and effortless wordflow - and as for the atmosphere, it definitely has touches of T.S Eliot's 'Rhapsody on a Windy Night'. S :)
The words paint the picture very clear for me, a dark and dingy place of dwelling, where pain is never heard. Great!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
'And pointing down austere spikes hang down' Rachel Ann Butler