The Walk

He walks and stumbles up the dimly lit path.
Laughing and crying at the same time, how things can change.
Owned by the night and wallowing in its glory,
With the Moon his muse looking down on him

Sending sweet nothings through the airwaves,
sitting at the bus stop alone while buses are cold and clam in the station.
Questioning each and every streetlight, how dare they!
He walks again yet slower

Crushing a face against the stone, talking to its nature
Speaking and reminiscing of how beautiful it was,
yet conflicting interests still arise, in mind; in time.
The walk continues and shall never stop.

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