The tunnel cloaked in darkness
less solemn than it seems.
Lines left on the bricks,
luminous bursts swooping up
to the ceiling in a neon flare.
Contorted, distorted, obscure
yet far from indecipherable,
lighting up the whole tunnel
as trains rumble overhead
and water drips from the ceiling.
Swirls forming letters against the bricks
in glittering gold, pristine purple
and incandescent green,
illumination in the shade
and dazzled pigeons on the overhang.
A message to be read
in the curves and twists
made by faceless artists in the hours of starlight,
the hours where the letters
speak the loudest.
(So this poem was initially inspired by the daily prompt from NaPoWriMo, suggesting to write a surrealist poem inspired by Federico García Lorca, but this piece evolved into something much different to what I had in mind originally.)
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