Late New York Streets

Late New York Streets



Out late, New York cold streets I walk the deserted streetes on purpose,
tempting fate.
The city hisses at me with steam from manholes,
the rats are my witness.
Cold cobblestone, prone, alone,
I am the midnight wanderer.
The homeless sleeping in cardobard boxes, forgotten,
left to rot by the system.
On these cold hard streets I live.
In and out of realities glare.
The night is my friend and I wander searching for something.
In these dark alley's I find myself.
Through my solitude I burst forth.
To wonder and wander.
To try to drink from life's cup once again.
Yet so close to death's embraces, only a short leap away.
Shall I break the bond or stay.