Wandering Alone Poem by Peter Black

Regret the losses thrown in wind as sand,
passes all the pain from refused lips and hands,
But when I walk upon the black grout stones,
Down side roads, off the main, drone
out the cries of voices linger: goodbyes,
smelling perfume and lust's mask the while,
Pass these shadows of dead end street signs,
Misleading folks bellow a lurid sky:
Jewel fragments, though cracked open they are,
Dust, and heat and burnt out stars.
The voices and smells floating from balconies,
Ghost down their false love: Deceit.
But I fear far more the small room I board,
That smells of mothballs and little more.