sharp, wet.
the pavement smells
of salt and dirt.
search for cracks,
my feet hold strong,
refusing to slip
in the cold winter air.
a siren miles away,
can be heard from here,
as the bright lights
shut off,
like the city
took its last breath,
before its restful slumber.
each footstep loud
beneath my leather soles,
my fingers
frozen to my sides,
now white with frost.
my breath, heavy and quick,
is yet like a dragon's;
icy and beautiful,
in the city that never sleeps.
i see the last window sign
flicker out
as i walk through the dying city,
breathing
like a dragon.
A/N:
Hi everyone. Thanks for reading my third poem! Comment what I should write about next, and vote if you liked it! Thanks so much!
Sincerely,
CrimsonToaster
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Idle Poetry
PoetryWhen our dreams become paint, and paper is our canvas, we create the most beautiful paintings. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Compilation of poe...
