Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Poem Draft

Lamplit Lanes

What strange, remarkless, baneful folk
now walk the streets beneath the moon,
what voodoo-dreamers,
what crowds ensorceled to a swoon!
How oddly light from old, weak lamps
upon the dirty path now falls,
spreading wanhope faces,
and casting over life a pall!
The nightmares out for midnight stroll
walk arm in arm along the way
with impudent smirk
as fearless as the gods by day;
for in their old and titan element,
void and darkness, chaos reigns;
and they are chaos,
and walk upon the lamplit lanes.

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