Strolling Through the City of Shadows.

By Jay St John Knight.


TV White Noise

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

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8 thoughts on “Strolling Through the City of Shadows.

  1. It reminds of Camus’s The Stranger for some reason. Even so his book is full of descriptions of colour and told in a light hearted manner. This poem feels like a ‘what is really going on’ narrative, as Meursault is an unreliable narrator one cannot obviously trust his descriptions, and if one pays little attention to the notion of the cruelty and absurdity of his actions and what those actions represent, the seriousness of the book can escape the reader. So I think why the poem reminds me of it, is because it clearly details the reality of a Reality, of an atmosphere of hopelessness that could drive someone to commit a heinous act without thought or guilt. Something like that anyway… I’m not entirely sure that makes sense. Nevertheless, good poem sir! 😉

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  2. I get a bit depressed in the winter, SAD and all that, I’m glad I didn’t read this on a bad morning! Very powerful. It is amazing how often we are entombed in loneliness even when love is all around. Thanks.

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