walking to work

the darkened towers above the well-lit street
loom in full silence where once there was life
the street is usually quiet at this hour never rife
with movement purpose only my heavy feet
and the wheels of my bag as we move not fleet
but steady on the way the light is sharp as knife
on bleary eyes as i pass by no fear of any strife
at least at this odd hour never a one i meet
in these long streets at this the changing hour
between the night and day only the working men
and women will be out not too long the walk
to reach my office still each empty idle tower
within this moment each their fear must pen
inside their hearts above flies last nighthawk