White knuckles and red fingers,

Warm breath dissipating upon the cold stillness of night.

Grey solemn spirits linger,

With burning eyes those sapphire spirits of fading light.


And the ghosts of traffic,

Ferry their captive cargo illuminating lines of passageways.

This darkness has its magic,

Harbouring melancholic dreams expelled from winter days.


Diamonds and frosted glass,

Amber teardrops caught in a rhizome of frozen time.

Dreamers of a nocturnal mass,

With prayers in pockets silently shuffling out in a line.


And this night will surely pass,

Though the stillness of moments seemingly imprison and cage.

Time’s wave ebbs away so fast,

Hungry fires beat back the cold from fists of quiet rage.


Thursday 25 January 2018