Untitled

A stillness hangs in melancholy,
Tire-tread silence as the ruthless street lights mock
Streaks of golden glitter perched in the sky.
One forbidden cry encapsulates the nocturnal child,
As a lone starlet turns his shine down to dim,
Breathing heavily in the unfound fumes with
The absence of something to pound a tightened fist into.
The moon gaze remains dream-drenched
As revered words endure life inside the bindings tonight,
The first and last edition of its kind -
Still roaming in a reverie that is far from getting through.
I don’t think he notices the woe-be-gone eulogy,
Or the song that remembers the missing chord to its melody,
And so it remains,
Unsung.