Solace and solitude are found in the silence of streets,

Serviced yet worn paths scattered

Without symetry through sunless concrete canopies

People percariously perched upon park benches,

Papers in crumples prance when prodded and picked up by the wind,

Pigment pouring from the pores of fractured sidewalks

Time turns forwards towards travelers passing through

But slowing to a steady tick of seconds for those who reside

Nobody who lives here will ever see the light of day.