After the rain,
the streets sparkle.
The sun shines.
Kids play ball.
Bicycles ride by.
Couples walk hand in hand.
The air sings with laughter,
drifting from diners at the sidewalk cafe.
A dog sleeps in the shadows.
A new day.
Silence sweeps the streets clean.
No voices to mark the white surface.
A cold wind brushes away
prints of unwanted footsteps.
Lights in the distance
warn us of inhabitants.
Ignore those earthly reminders
of noise and commotion.
Instead, enjoy the serenity
nature presents to us.
Source:iliketheseshots
One window among many.
One window to the world.
Watching the darkness.
Alone.
Waiting.
Open to the darkness.
Waiting for something.
Or someone.
Darkness brings a pall to the streets.
A dread that can be felt by all.
It follows me with soft footsteps.
Growing closer behind me with each step.
I should have listened to my heart’s song.
Listened to reason and right from wrong.
I’m now trapped in this horror of despair.
Waiting for death to take me in his arms.
The shadows are growing larger.
Surrounding me from all sides.
There’s nowhere to run or hide.
I will stand strong against the tide.
The coldness wraps around me.
My hair drips icicles down my neck.
I shiver in dread of my future.
My future as queen of The Dead.
The bright lights of a city.
The excitement.
The noise.
It entices you.
It takes you on a ride.
Holiday time like no other.
Light the way.
In the midst of darkness,
life emerges.
It walks
the streets.
It flies
in the skies.
It swims
the waves.
Life is persistent.
Take me down the road.
All the way down.
Beneath the city.
To what lies below.
To the darkest depths.
Where no one dares to tread.
To the real city.
WHITE BLANKET OF SNOW
The snow is falling.
Flakes float to the ground.
A hush falls across the city.
Few cars dare to brave the roads.
Too soon for building snowmen.
Footsteps have yet to marr
the white surface.
A white blanket.
Sparkling clean.
The city is refreshed.
Its sins covered.
A rebirth.
draevendelunaSource:
The air feels thick,
Laden with moisture.
Clouds roll in.
The sky grows darker,
Then you hear the first drops.
The water pounding on the roof
in a staccato melody of its own.
Pound, pound, pound.
Tap, tap, tap.
The rain washes our streets
and clears our minds.
Preparing us for a new day.
Altamura (Apulia, Italy) by Dauno Settantatre
Dark are the streets
By which they creep.
Silence is their goal.
Through the town, they go.
Bodies left behind,
Blood-dry we will find.
Church bells are tolling,
And heads are rolling.
Flee from this we must
Before we are dust.
THE DEAD GAME
SUSANNE LEIST 