under the watchful eye of the streetlamps

I walk at night -
right smack-dab in the middle of the street
under the watchful eye of only the street lamps.
I walk at night,
listening,
listening,
listening....
can you hear it?
In the croak of the frogs
telling their bedtime stories;
the groans of the occasional car on the main road,
with souls trapped within the confines of their commute
to nowhere.
The rustle of the tall, yellow grass overlooking the swamp mud
would take over the world if given the opportunity;
the conversation between nature and mankind is
but a low murmur during the day,
with noise of 'civilization' heavy as a lion - but,
at night, with our lives gradually doze off to a soft purr,
the conversation grows as a sweet song on the dull breeze.
the heavy, sweet, warm air,
like breath on a pillow,
gently rocks us into rhythm
with the frogs and cars and grass -
all as I saunter, alone,
listening to this conversation -
intruiged -
under the watchful eye of the streetlamps.

Once again, really good.

This is really good

thankssss! i really need to post more. but i'm kinda shy about sharing my junk these days...

do it anyway!!