The Avenue

The Poem

All along The Avenue,
horns honk and tires screech;
but every time I walk closer
the street seems out of reach.

All along The Avenue
people laugh, gab, and dance;
but every time I try to join in
I'm on the other side of the fence.

All along The Avenue
alleys depart and slither away;
and some are home to better stories
because their people are free to stay.

All along The Avenue
the clocks monotonously click on;
as if a constant reminder
that there is always another dawn.

All along The Avenue
the lights never flicker or fade;
which makes it near impossible
to rob or steal or raid.

All along The Avenue
invisible spectres stand guard;
they're ghosts of past depressed souls
who could no longer go forward.

All along The Avenue
the wind funnels through and howls;
so you pull up your coat and hold on to your hat..
it sounds oddly like dying cows.

All along The Avenue
ordinary people carry on;
ignoring or not seeing
the shadow people come and gone.

All along The Avenue
shadow people line the alleys;
they notice things that you will not
and so they make good allies.

All along the Avenue
you have your pick of confidants;
but beware, thickly around them swirl their pasts,
the ghosts that relentlessly haunt.

All along The Avenue
you stop and peer down each path;
as if you're looking back for something
that hath what you do not hath.

All along The Avenue
your whisper is carried along;
I hear you, but why want me?
I'm just one of them, after all.

Those words, written on one of my darkest nights in a city that never grows dark, are what enabled me to live. They're why I am still here, still writing, and able to tell you my full story.