I can see through
windows once obscured
by the lime tree that now stands
smaller, nude
and the skeleton
of the silver birch
its limbs that jerk
rattled by cold bursts
of clouds’ breath
and beyond the gardens
and the trembling sheds
the gas works’ silhouette
dark against a darker sky
lines erased by winter night
and houses that I
didn’t know were there
have suddenly appeared
so the terraces seem higher
roofs dripping with yellow lights
families at dining tables
clothes twisting in a tumble dryer
knives scraping on plates
a man chopping wood for the fire
the people laugh and fight
tell stories and share a joke
and are completely unaware
that I am here
indoors but looking out
into their homes
into their lives
having a smoke
deciding what to write
sipping tea
hiding in the December night
safe in anonymity
extinguishing the light
and closing the window
quietly behind me.
Follow me @treacleheartx
Treacle Heart 
Absolutely love this 💛
Thanks lovely, means lot :D ♡♡
*a lot! X
#deepsigh
The beauty of your writing is in the relateabilty of it (don’t know if that’s an actual word, but it should be). Love this, dear gurl ❤
Aw that’s so lovely, and relatability is indeed a word! Thanks so much gurrrrl <3 <3 <3
Hahaha…I was thinking ‘gurrrrl’ too (instead of just gurl), but I’ve been binge watching Drag Race, so…
I can relate to this. I sit on my balcony, late at night and watch people walk by. I often wonder what their stories are and where they are headed. I think about if I’ll ever meet them someday. The view from my balcony is however nothing compared to what you’ve described. This is a wonderful, descriptive poem about observation.
Ah, I think that all writers are people-watchers :) thank you for reading <3
That may be true but the watching’s the easy bit. Not everyone can translate it as well as you two can.
We try! :’D X