A poem from London

I walk alone at night,
amongst the Christmas city lights.

The youth outside with beers in hand,

Their banking is done, how beigely bland.

Music in my ears it que’s my mood,

The sights and sounds, creativity food.

Yet all alone, i feel the pain,

Despite my pen being synced with brain.

And as much as my poems written in pubs, they always flow like water,

I yearn to be amongst the heather, my wife, my son and daughter.

PedroBatPoet.com (c) 2022


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