My nose is numb.
Is it still there.
My warm breath
Cuts through frozen air.
Another cold night
City winds down.
The journey home
Begins in town
Streets lit up
Red orange green
Grinding to a halt
Is Man the machine.
Returning home
To the warmth of fire
Some will burn on
Only to drop when tired.
Sleep will find them
While others lie awake
Bed is their sanctuary
Refuel. Tomorrow’s another day.

By Sheree pratt
Photo by Blake Richard Verdoorn
  • Show Comments (2)

  • folorentorium

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  • Genevieve Milwee

    Dead pent subject material, Really enjoyed looking through.

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