| Night Market - First Draft |
[21 Jul 2004|01:03pm] |
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mood |
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 curious |
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Jostling along the innards
Men, like broken shards
Of the glass beings that they were outside.
Stumbling along in blind stupor
Frenzied by ambrosic fervour
It's that time of the year outside.
I was there in the bowels
Of the city, My feet like trovels
Plodding along gamely.
All there for the same thing
No lost treasure of queen or king
Just a night away from home.
Out buying a few baubles
Drowning out their troubles
In the screaming din, away from home.
I bought a hundred kites, 50 to a head
A thousand yards of sharded thread
And sundry roadside melange.
The crowd, a thousand strong
Did the same and bustled along
Turned back from the alleys.
Reluctantly, they turned to home
Going back the way they'd come
To the grind, beyond the alleys.
I hemmed and hawed for a few
Moments more, but knew
Home was waiting for me.
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