I walk the streets to stray around
As horns hang still, surrounding cars
No people pass, no flowers found
The clouds stay dark, the sun stays far
No light, no sound—a man was hung
These buildings block the burning sun
We take in air with dying lungs
Restored to life against the guns
There is no more, it’s all in vain
Without direction known, unknown
A daydream where it’s all the same
The city cries on buried stones
Forgotten landscapes, desert blooms
A people left by littered gates
No rest but roots beneath the tombs
That feed the weeds of winding fates
This garden path has pierced the stage
I linger, silent, still in place
That distant tune, that distant page
I play along and leave no trace
Copyright (c) 2017 by Frank Watson



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