Dark Streets Black Souls
My silent feet patrol these streets
They seek no help from me.
Expectant clouds, form up like shrouds
They whisper destiny.
The stars have fled, to guide the dead
The silent moon, discreet.
The clouds, in pain, spew out their rain
The blackness, now, complete.
I stare at dark store windows
At tortured mannequins.
They point at me, accusingly
With frozen, knowing, grins.
Grimy windows, curtains drawn
Cast out thin shafts of light.
Shadows dance, as if in trance
As drunken lovers fight.
In darkened alleys, shining eyes
Of foxes on the prowl.
And just above the beat of rain
Forgotten dogs do howl.
I look down at the gutter
My shrunken soul stares back.
I kneel to beg forgiveness
As the lightening starts to crack.
I fear that my salvation
Will be washed away by rain.
It seems this is my destiny
To tread these streets again.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
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Poet's Notes about The Poem
Comments about this poem (Dark Streets Black Souls by Owain Glyn )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
(5 November 1850 - 30 October 1919)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
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