The bastard son of the universe
Loomed across the night sky
From his balcony.
His eyes, flickered liquidly
like drops of oil, dreaming.
He dreams like this
every summer evening
when the heat crawls slowly into the ground to rest.
He has questions unuttered.
You can feel it can't you?
He has passion within him,
so intense that it could melt glass.
He'd make mirrors out of cities
so we could all see how beautiful we are.
But he is alone,
and his passion seeps into the ground
along with the heat.
As the night robs the world of light,
each evening,
takes a chip of hope from his soul.
Patiently,
like cigarette burns
poking holes into a bed cover.
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