The empty city echoes every step I take on the uphill street.
Not a person in sight, only my breath and the lantern heat.
The houses I’m passing are certainly begging for repairs
But saying I love these darker corners of my city any less
Wouldn’t be fair.
I pass three churches during my 6AM run each morning.
(The fourth I don’t count because it looks too boring.)
The first one has two huge towers and a devoted staff,
The third one sells dead flowers and tombstones
With pre-written epitaphs.
The second one hides shyly behind the trees in the park,
It’s so old that the silhouette alone scares me in the dark.
There’s a single light at the entrance, it violently flickers.
Each time I’m spooked by its presence, I swear –
Someone slightly snickers.
But nothing compares to the graveyard fostering ghostly candles.
Most wouldn’t feel at ease passing, even call me a vandal.
Yet I stare at it in the moonlight, I forget about the pain.
It’s only me and the unknown pleasures
Of losing the gathered blame.
The others keep rejecting these gloomy city corners as the paragon.
“Aren’t you afraid, isn’t it scary for you to carry on?”
However, the church bells keep ringing, vestiges call for me.
I’d sell my soul and yours, too,
For another morning of clarity.
-JW