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Rated: E · Poetry · Mystery · #1701780
Written a while ago - I've since forgotten much of its symbolism. To be continued!
A small child unbuttons his black raincoat in front of me.
He is a phantom, a gust of glass, illuminating shards of dreams
that shimmer past us and explode in the street.
And as I pivot around to see
the golden youth of peasantry,
stricken with destitute, crumbling scenes
of wisdom poised in the current of a stream,
I only see emptiness, cobblestone streets,
pale apparitions in constancy of phantom dreams,
the moonlight refracted in rain-soaked mystique.

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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1701780-Cobblestone-Streets