the fortieth day

Grey tendrils of smoke
Curling round nicotine stained fingertips

Under a dimly lit street corner

Some forty miles to nowhere
Reminiscing over the past
And sending ghosts into the fog

These movers and shakers
Eclipsed in the shadows
Of the white orb rising above
Casting light
Where only street lamps throw shade

One foot in front of the other
Marching onwards
Boots on the ground
And towels in hand
We venture into the river
To pull out the downtrodden

Some say the world will end in fire
Or was that some dead man
Come back to haunt the dreams
Or live in the world among mankind

In an everlasting sunrise
At the edge of the earth
As close to the shifting of poles
Would be
If we weren’t so magnetically attracted

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