Men glide like ghosts,

Blending into the shadows

Of a darkened world.

The rain-laden air was palpable,

Heavy on the tongue and 

Dampening the hair and

Leaving cool droplets on the skin.

That tall, tall building,

So foreboding in stature;

How was it made

To so resemble an anvil,

Separating the rushing crowds

In the near-darkness

Ever elegantly?

The desparate branches,

So choked by blackness,

Grasped the sky,

Yearning to capture the 

Brightening rays of the

Predawn sun.