Cold Streets

A cycle of poems «Your Lipstick's on My Shirt»

Cold streets whisper secrets in the rain
Neon signs flicker, a melancholic refrain
Empty alleys echo with a lonely sound
Footprints fading, nowhere to be found
The wind bites hard, a chill that cuts through bone
Leaving shadows dancing, all alone

Cold streets, where dreams go to die
Underneath a starless, weeping sky
Broken promises, whispered in the breeze
A symphony of silence, among the leafless trees
Cold streets, a canvas of despair
A lonely heart's reflection, mirrored everywhere

Streetlights bleed a yellow, sickly hue
Reflecting faces, worn and worn anew
A huddled figure, clutching a worn coat tight
Seeking solace in the fading, city light
Each step a struggle, a heavy, weary pace
Lost in the labyrinth, with no time or space

Cold streets, where dreams go to die
Underneath a starless, weeping sky
Broken promises, whispered in the breeze
A symphony of silence, among the leafless trees
Cold streets, a canvas of despair
A lonely heart's reflection, mirrored everywhere

But even in the darkness, a flicker remains
A spark of hope, that softly sustains
A chance encounter, a kind, outstretched hand
A moment of warmth, in this desolate land

Cold streets, where dreams can still ignite
Underneath a starless, yet hopeful night
Broken fragments, pieced together with care
A fragile melody, rising on the air
Cold streets, a chance to start anew
A whispered promise, a brighter, hopeful hue

The cold streets breathe, a sigh in the night
A promise of dawn, a flicker of light
Cold streets, cold streets, they'll hold you no more
A new day is dawning, and you'll find your shore.