Some evenings,
      when the city lights sway slowly
            on the street corners, I watch from the 
        suburban frenzy as the nights unfold
     upon the tresses of my mysteries.
I can make out the shape 
            of love's distant conflict in the impressions
                    of morning clouds- past the hopeless
                          cries of the human confusion and
                              the mindlessness of time with
                                    each passing minute.
I sit upon wilted trees that 
                                         -bleed, bleed-
         from the deep sores of lost elegance
                                as I wait        to be freed
                      by the sweet deception of Reality's lips.
     A cool wind now drapes the faceless chaos
                         where unseen Beauty weeps for
        Silence, and unheard silence weeps for beauty.
I reach out my withered hands 
                     and clasp the tears as they 
                                       -fall, fall-
                                from the darkness.
 -In the distance-
                  I can hear the whispers of the city's 
                                delicate winter song
                                              -lost-
                   my eyes follow the intricacies 
       raging with the tune, the time, the golden sweep            of each  note soaring in the dawn's shadow-
Time grasps me gently 
                            as I slip from this night-
                                -Awakened- 
                        the city lights are dead