Mondays are just young Fridays

The night is charcoal,
streetlights brighten
the never-changing colours
available at this hour.
There is a chill,
the air tastes fresh,
everywhere. Different,
Especially now.
Still and silent.
The mind wanders
the same way
a teenager does
after slipping out
a basement window
at 3:43 a.m.
knowing
nothing is happening
anywhere
in this darkness,
but the freedom
tastes
like nothing else.
Find your silence.
See your freedom.

09/18/2017                     j.g.l.

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