Poem - The Streets

He drifts through the streets, their eerie calm
Punctuated by the occasional screams of intoxicated youth,
To whom he is purposefully oblivious.
He barely notices the heated smell rising from
Rain spattered tarmac, nor the
Drops themselves, marking an increasing beat
As the shower begins its cascade, washing
Away another summer’s day in the city.
His face, at once appearing as a hollow mask,
Twists at times into a contorted grotesque,
As the demons that drove him here tonight
Play out their torture and
Force him to the endgame.
Who can tell what pain he carries,
He is here, burdened by sorrow and loss,
His slow, mournful strides bearing him
Into the gloom.
Another soul lost to the city night
There to join it’s choral wail
And fade to all-consuming black.