The colorful lights you call home
Burn on me like a searchlight for fugitives,
Breaking free --at last
Only to find themselves running
into a new cell
Can you hear the tired crowd
dragging their feet along the city's veins?
Can you hear the marked sadness
between their spilled liquor and empty laughter?
Because I do, I do,
and your city nights make my heart wonder,
How can you find beauty in this madness
when the only beauty here is you?
YOU ARE READING
Confessions of a Tired Poet
PoetryWhat kind of poem would you write if you stopped caring about everybody else? Confessions of a Tired Poet is a collection of short poems that gives you a backstage pass to the life of a poet who's sick and tired of his life. This is the front seat t...
