Shadows talk,
he listens to the darkness,
taking night.

Window stalk,
People peering from brightness,
Out of sight

With blood on his hands dripping,
Soulless roams,
White handed from hard gripping,
Streaked RED with another’s life
Taken home,
With golden coins from his wife.
Back down dark and grimy streets
All alone,
Back to ragged dirty sheets.
To stumble as others weep.
Down the stone
To the fog that is his sleep

The gas seeps,
From ovens that remind her
Of those days.

And she weeps,
Her life had been that diner;
And she prays.

And lights a candle….