A grey year. Now, late afternoon, the clouds
have left the tired sky but in the streets
there’s shadows slouching round the silent fronts
of the old houses. Asphalt sickly gleams
with the reflection of approaching night
and somewhere further down a church bell strikes
the hour. There’s something cold about the sound
forlornly pealing overhead, too late
to act upon, too much in tune with all
this grey inertia, slow, unnerving drone
that speaks of passing time and days long gone
in its wide sweep, and chances left too long.

Happy 2013,everybody!

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bydemure101© 4 comments/ 1785 views/ 0 favorites

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