Thirteen
Darkened gritted streets of Christmas cheer
That I've wondered many times with a mind so clear
Decorated by suggestive amber taxi lights
In the distance those lights take flight
They dance with the moon
As I walk the charcoal streets
That fold around the people who dream
The ones partied out or in the throws of something obscene
As we usher in the thirteenth day
Christmas has been boxed up and put away
But I like to come undone
And rebuild my thoughts on darkened weaves
Leaves and branches of trees
Natures cobwebs above me
The thrum of cars as they drive by
Scurried destinations that I deny
As I continue on my trail
I allow my mind to set sail
Thoughts of the day so weary
Unlike me
Who is hungry for adventure
Exploring life's dementia
It's broken clock that seems so complete
But different on every street
An urban world with a different beat
That I can tune to
The rhythm of the night
Still coloured by festive lights
Of the ones absent of superstition
I sing on a breeze of loitered aluminium
Empty cans lost for a purpose
But all the lights and midnight noise
Tell tales like disused toys
That lead me home
To you...
© Richard Withey. All rights reserved.