The Fall of Men


I passed a shabby little town,
Intrigued by its damp colours,
Revisiting my lonely footsteps,
Cobblestone-covered streets,
Narrower than horse carriages,
Ruled by thousands of crows,
And nothing else mattered,
Windows: shadows of grey,
Doors: barred beyond reach,
As if a town for a gothic play,
Staged for lives in despair,
Neither whispers nor silence,
As the last man standing falls.
Tuesday, 21stof April 2015
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