The shape of things that go and come

The shape of things that go and come prose poem

The shadows shake the window through trees in the night
My memory of pictures flash in front of me in the white moon light
I want to forget you but we both know it’s not a fair fight
To you I am a reason not to walk down the street alone for fright
To me you are the steam rising from the city streets under a cold misty ritual rite
The rivers and the buildings make for monsters to grow through imagination and images of shadows which are real in the time of midnight
I have to turn my head away before my mind is transfixed by the stories I think of neither slight nor subconsciously trite
To bed to dream of new visions but always tainted by the window but I must say goodnight

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Peter Kiggin

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I am a poet through and through and anyone that tells you different you must deny it and slap them across the face very roughly indeed. I love the normal things in life and turning them into mysterious meaningful emotionally attached fascinating object or subjects.
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Zahra A.
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beautifully penned

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