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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1624836-Midnight-in-Suburbia
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by golden Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Nature · #1624836
A poem about a night walk through a normal neighborhood
Midnight In Suburbia

People always talk about night time in the city,
“The city” meaning the one they live in,
Or the closest one to their little alcove of civilization;
But no one ever talks about the night time in the suburbs.

How the scattered street lamps provide just enough light
For their spheres of illumination to touch, like Venn diagrams leaving patches of darkness;
On any given street at midnight one of those lights is eerily flicking on and off,
While its partners attract large strange insects with their glow.

How the limited light makes the stars shine,
They sparkle in the dark blue of the night, a glowing river in the sky;
You look upon this river and imagine your own constellations
Tracing their story, their struggle from Polaris to Betelgeuse.

How one of the stars moves languidly along flashing,
And you realize that it is a plane populated with people;
You watch that plane cruise through the sky, taking its passengers far way,
Seeming to eclipse the stars as it passes through the ethereal stream.

How the moon at its zenith full and glowing shows you the way
Bathing your world in a beautiful erie light;
It is so dark and yet so bright out, you can see everything so crystal clear
The sun in comparison seems overwhelming, you think on a world lit this way and smile.

How the black pavement glows in the moonlight
Its light reflecting upon the little stones, set within like diamonds;
The street and its shining stones look just like the sky,
And if it was not for the moon you would be hard pressed to tell the difference.

How your neighbors’ grass gleams in the moonlight
Its dew dripping from blade to blade suspended on the tips by some foreign force;
When walking through, the water washes on your ankles, sinks through your shoes
Soothing your soul as you walk the raised stone line between grass and pavement.

How the sounds surround you embracing your footsteps as part of their symphony,
The crickets playing the violins on their backs, calling to their lovers;
The wind whistles through the trees bending the branches,
The leaves like natures wind chimes.


How the whole hum is disturbed by a rustling to your left and you look to see
The glowing eyes of a stray stare at you and then vanish the glow seeming to stay;
As the image of the flourishing tail vanishes from your mind
You feel comforted knowing some one else is out there enjoying the night.

How the occasional car going by on the 45 mile per hour road
Sounds as if it becomes part of the wind as if it is moved by it, gliding by;
A motorcycle peals through the peace its muffler tearing at the atmosphere
And when it is gone you appreciate the other sounds all the more.

How the crisp night air fills your nostrils
It wafts through your body and fills your soul;
The smells of pine and oak mingle with the night
And you breath deep through your nose filling you chest with the air.

How the wind breathes by you gently touching you bare skin and ruffling your clothes
Gently pushing warm air around you in a swirl;
You walk with your back to the wind and it gently tells you,
to continue along your path.

How you find a tennis ball left behind from the days play and throw it upwards
To trick the bats into thinking there is prey about, and make them come out to play;
These fluttering rodents who can not glide at all, somehow still look graceful,
While they struggle to defy gravity and investigate the air with sound and touch alone.

How while staring up you see a flying flame,
It is a comet, or a meteor? it does not matter;
As you watch this fiery rock streak across the sky
It seems that its wake becomes the stars in the firmament.

At Midnight in the city people walk out for various reasons,
Midnight in Suburbia however is just a call for peace,
A replacement of boredom with the night sky,
The dark pavement and cool wet grass.
© Copyright 2009 golden (golden5 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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