The Village

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It has lost its spark,

Its draw and lure

Like the one night stand from a lusty bed.

No longer a moth to the pink booze-fuelled flame.

The vacuous occupants of hot and heavy bars,

Attract me less and less.

Distant are the memories of the great night out,

The random in that bar, the flirt and the pull in the other.


They all seem so young and insignificant now

In their trendy, trendy clothes and their funky, funky hair.

Was I ever really there at all?


Once the be all and end all of a Saturday night

Has been replaced with a bottle and a DVD.


Year on year the street never changes.

Each weekend it fills with those looking for

love - or lust - or shag - a touch of another.

The heavy heady beats

The sticky scummy bars.


No longer a part of my life.

I reject the invitation and feel no guilt.

I suggest a night in or a local pub.

Come with, come in - enjoy talking for once,

Somewhere we can hear without our ears bleeding.


The street.

I have removed it from my life.

Yet I am still whole.


©Katy Stewart March 2010


◄ To Whom It May Concern

Stopped ►


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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Sat 10th Apr 2010 20:56

Really good, Katy. What a great subject, so honest, and maybe even helpful to someone on the cusp. Very well expressed. Super last line.

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Tommy Carroll

Fri 9th Apr 2010 17:03

haha, so,so real-as I was too. Hearing conversation or music that pleases not drowns.

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