curtains of mists stalk cobbled lanes
at midnights stroke, when strange tides roam
down winding ruins of cutthroat alleys
strong feral tombs of brick and mortar
...
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Own empire only has mumbling of mice on moss. This really very thought provoking poem you have shared is amazingly drafted.10
It make me think of a walk through a grave yard at night fascinating and horrific in turn great piece of descriptive writing a tingler of a poem