A Lost Child

The city lights are hard and cold
Beneath an unforgiving sky,
And empty faces reaffirm
The feeling that you want to die,

Along the curb the parking meters
March in single file to signify your doom;
In all these paths of tears
And streets of pain
You wish to hold her hand again,
Be hidden in her womb.

poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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