deepundergroundpoetry.com
12/2/2019 Eastside village
From my upper step,
through the streets
I hear lady Greensleeves playing.
The temp is cold
and the clouds are misty.
Christmas lights are hung
here and there,
and the wind in the trees
it picks up an autumn leaf
and takes it dancing.
And the moon, it
becomes a slender white.
I hear gunshots often, here,
and hardly know what to think,
and the sirens; I've become
numb to this brazen eastside village,
quite thankful for those that don't know me.
Later on I'll go out and drive,
from my upper step,
that's what I'm thinking.
through the streets
I hear lady Greensleeves playing.
The temp is cold
and the clouds are misty.
Christmas lights are hung
here and there,
and the wind in the trees
it picks up an autumn leaf
and takes it dancing.
And the moon, it
becomes a slender white.
I hear gunshots often, here,
and hardly know what to think,
and the sirens; I've become
numb to this brazen eastside village,
quite thankful for those that don't know me.
Later on I'll go out and drive,
from my upper step,
that's what I'm thinking.
Published 3rd Dec 2019
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3rd Dec 2019 2:44am
We seem to acclimate to our surroundings once there for awhile. Almost becomes a second nature, certain sounds. This is a simple contemplation and appreciation for the simple things in life on a late Autumn evening.
