Mirrored lights are calling all of the night birds into song
Across the courtyard the hallway beacons are already lit, it all seems wrong
The view from the window is yet again the same again; unchallenging
Within, the flickering ghost light illuminates a shadow of furniture, unchanging
The white, dull room throbs with silence, wailing out its empty loneliness
The passers-by crowd round in the street beneath its balcony, blameless
They have spent the day engaged in the game, watching the riots
The enraged protestors, egged on in street battles, augmented by heat and flies
Now the demonstrators huddle beneath the red umbrellas of street cafés
The first heavy flecks of rain patter out a pattern on warmed pavements and alleyways
We all live alone, in the city of isolation, all alone, without childhood memory
Obtuse forgetfulness has wiped away the greens fields you wandered aimlessly
Alternatively you are cold and then warmed again by fear
The lightning flashes add arcs of electricity, as a battle transfers to the atmosphere
thelibraryrooms 