THE WET ROAD

Midnight drips on the asphalt, a silver ribbon unspooling ,
Each puddle a mirror to a sky that never sleeps.
Footsteps echo, soft as whispers, chasing shadows that linger
between the flicker of streetlamps and the sigh of rain.

The road remembers every secret it has swallowed—
the rustle of a lover’s coat, the promise of a vanished train.
Mist curls around the tires, blurring the line between now
and the stories that lie beneath the surface of the night.

A lone lantern swings, casting halos that dance on the glaze,
revealing fleeting silhouettes—an old saxophone player, a forgotten diary,
a pair of eyes that flicker like distant constellations,
watching, waiting for a passenger who never arrives.

The water pools around cracked cobblestones, forming portals,
each ripple a portal to another time where the road was dry,
where laughter rang louder than thunder, and love was a promise
etched in chalk before the storm washed it away.

And when the first light of dawn kisses the horizon,
the wet road shimmers, a ghost of itself,
still holding the echo of midnight’s mysteries,
inviting you to walk again—if only to hear its silent song.

Beneath the amber glow, a stray cat pads silently,
its paws leaving fleeting prints that dissolve before sunrise.
A distant train whistles, its echo swallowed by the rain,
leaving only the road’s low hum as a lullaby for wanderers.

In the gutter, a discarded ticket flutters like a moth,
its destination unknown, its promise unclaimed.
The road sighs, a soft susurrus of tires long gone,
and the night folds its velvet curtain over the city’s secrets.

The rain‑killed lantern flickers, casting a brief eclipse,
and for a heartbeat the street becomes a river of glass,
reflecting a sky that isn’t there—stars that whisper, “turn back,”
while a lone figure steps forward, silhouette swallowed by mist.

A distant clock strikes thirteen, its echo trapped in puddles,
each drop a tiny drumbeat of time slipping away.
The wet road shivers, as if remembering footsteps that never left,
and the night leans in, offering secrets only the rain can hear.