White nights,

white nights...

I'm colourblind.

Kind of like to think I know

why we stand solid,

struck dumb by perennial sadness;

and the salient points,

burst like bubbles in smoked air;

clasped to the breast

that sinks as seconds lengthen

even beyond reason for purge.

 

Beyond the clouds that fall,

in spirals, now thick moistened rope;

we are given base,

and then the deluge crushes;

merciless as the gaze fractures,

siphoning hope from the last hopeful.

And those of wealth that pass their way;

they leave us here,

drenched to the skin,

in hiding holes so dear;

our unnumbered petrified.