There is so much in the shadows,

the photograph of abandoned things,

shuffling old men on once glory filled streets,

holding hand written placards, nothing changes,

now filled with the discarded everyday

that rots insidiously

like teeth on sugar high diet,

old decomposing trains stations, haunted

by the clatter of memories

and stolen lovers kisses

watched by steam

and the jealous porter,

now all gone;

I love shadows like this,

faded memories I can linger in,

it gives me a melancholic high.