Silhouette

man awakes,
takes slow steps,
his heavy eyes,
a reminder of the night before.
his heavy limbs,
a gift of last night's passion.

the world awakes,
slow, soft footsteps,
crowd the deserted corridor,
in the heart of the city.
it grows louder and louder,
day breaks.

some put the stars in place,
some too tired of the bustling pace,
lay back,
and think of better times.

still others…

and then,
the interlude in all that madness.
the fair maiden comes to call,
roving eyes,
molest her delicate.
people gather around to watch her plight.

she runs,
through the black of the roads,
into the green of the valley.
suddenly out of sight,
threatened by shadows at night,
she lives her life,
in solitude.

night falls,
the stars are put in place,
the tired,
have run their race.
into their cosy beds,
or someone Else's,
before they run out of time.
the world relaxes.

and out of the darkness,
a silhouette against the moon,
walks away,fading fast,
slow, measured steps,
careful not to wake, humanity.
He walks away, his day done,
of watching and observing.

the owls hoot,
and some other night animals,
lend their voices to bid him well,
for the night,
till he resumes his place,
and till,
the soft morning,
rises, and slowly,
the remains of the night,
like bad dreams,
rise as smokes through the chimney,
in the horizon.

an end to mighty beginnings,
tomorrow maybe a luscious thought,
but distant,
like the silhouette walking away,
fast from truth and delusion.
the owls stop singing,
it's peace and quiet again,
humanity sleeps.