Sunday, March 29, 2009

Walking Home

I was walking home the other day at dusk and penned the following:

Sweet silence-
Wisps of a lost sun streak overhead.
Dimming houselights spot the evening palette - confetti.
A nomadic leaf, brittle, skips across the pavement.
The biting wind nips my lobe.
A soft shadow nears-
Engulfed in blackness,
A cigarette tip burns orange.
God crumbles to ash, again.

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