PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

sterile corridors echo with the mechanical cough of neon—

no dawn to cradle our voices,

only the rasp of unblinking bulbs gnawing at tired paint.

that harsh hum seeps into the plaza’s midday roar.

the plaza’s midday roar shatters hollow promises,

horns and voices tumble over blistered asphalt—

no leaf can whisper here, no memory finds a home.

its ceaseless churn seeps into serried steel veins.

those steel veins pulse with commerce,

elevator shafts yawn like emptied lungs—

no harvest, no hymn, just the drone of bills

and boardrooms thumping through the city’s core.

the drumming heat fractures onto the dusty pavement.

beneath that fractured blaze sun stomps across glass walls,

flattening shadows beneath its weight— no echo, no hush,

only the crackle of light splintering every surface.

its glare melts into the gritty dust beneath.

each step on that gritty dust

writes itself in the street’s gray marrow—

no celestial guide, no constellation to follow,

just the grind of pavement narrating passing footsteps.

that worn tread dissolves into a silent anticipation.

in this hushed threshold I chart unseen galaxies

in the spaces between heartbeats— each memory

a luminous node, each pause a thread of returning.

here, under the quiet sky of my own making,

I find home in the echo of my own soft illumination.

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