The Spirit Falls at Dusk

Street corner standings do much to mask
The sense of love and justice in which we bask
Like grace from God in heaven above
As harmonious as the most peaceful dove.
The solitary bard tells his lonely story
Outside the tower block; decayed without glory,
But the beauty in his story transcends this
Nothing distracts onlookers; neither scream nor hiss.

Midnight comes and the sun long dead lies,
The spirit still exists; there's long before it dies.
But now it's subdued, encased in darkness' prison,
The difference between joy and tolerance is this schism,
Between night and day, the darkness creates for us,
An atmospheric misery that makes the mood thus,
Every house stays awake as in the day before,
Outside the tower block stands the solitary whore.

She stands where once there were trees
Telling not of what she hears or what she sees,
But she can't forget that bard she'd seen
His story of long quests divine had been,
Captivating in its memories of rivers that once had flowed,
This concrete was the ground where misery was sowed,
Days long gone will never return here,
The spirit lives, but for how long? That was the fear...