On The Way Home

It bled dry the light from the night,
Again, in this shreds pass of strange creatures.
Gateway of home; stations
where you can encounter all species kind.

Long legs, short skirts
backpack, lonely heart,
skimmed jeans, lost dreams.

However, is the drunk man, lost along the line,
apparently straight,
to commit arrogance, abuse of obscene,
they tomorrow remorse.

I'm not much sober,
tiredness drunk me of cocoon vest; I cannot move.
My eyes judge.
The place is crowded, on the empty day,

The light unreal of large pupils, stack midnight,
trough the bridgehead
where fence hold,
the light to be fouled.

poem by Luca Menin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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