By Jay St John Knight.
The television roars white noise in my darkened room.
Outside silent roads flank giant concrete tombs.
Empty cubes stacked high,
Each a square faced abyss
Filled only with specks of dust that hover there as if by unseen strings.
My footsteps are thunderclaps inside the blank geometry.
They reverberate as I stroll about,
Echoing a sombre soliloquy
Diminishing down darkened corridors
and deafened doorways.
Building upon building.
Street upon street.
A city of grey empty shoeboxes
Occupied by shadows who drift on shoeless feet
Floating just off the ground.
Who don’t pass by each other but instead pass through
And when they can no longer pass at all they simply cease,
Fall to their knees,
And let the others flock in silence to feed.
Who have no mouth, no ears and no eyes
And have severed all corporeal ties.
Who lurk in stone-built halls
And cathedrals that tear the sky.
Converging in submerged stations
And sitting in silent, faceless cinemas
Watching black and white projections void of all but the bleakest emotions.
Who meander down boulevards lined with bare trees of blackened bone.
Who are forever surrounded
And forever alone.
A city of anonymity;
Adrift in some unknowing state of separation.
Where stars scream defiantly silent serenades to the night sky.
Echoing past dreams minutely vibrant;
Gone in the blink of an eye.
Where the moons burns a brightly curved scimitar
Onto the dark canvas above.
Cutting those who reach out too far
Grasping for its celestial love.
The television roars white noise
In my darkened room.
Illustration by Madeleine Amos – www.youcallthatablog.wordpress.com