Dead End

Lamps flicker on in sequence,
nudged awake by the dusk that
settles on a low ceiling of clouds.

The final whisper of daylight retreats 
to the horizon, where it peers
beneath a heavy blanket of grey.

The smell of damp pavement and magnolias
lingers in the air. 
Pristine automobiles sigh on the edges
of a winding road. An iron gate
severs the silence with a rusty yawn. 

There is almost a growing weight
descending on the rooves
of the two-tiered towers.
A dull electrical hum floats on the gentle breeze.

A cluster of gnats hovers in the glow
of the streetlights. The crumbling sidewalks are
empty save for the persistent weeds 
sprouting up through the cracks. 

There is a sign of movement
as a silhouette passes by a window,
bathed in amber light.
All else is still.

Never could one find their way through
that maze of cul-de-sacs.
The silence was lonely,
as though the world was muffled by broad oak branches,
their leaves telling hushed secrets on the wind.
Yet getting lost among row on row of empty mansions 
felt safe, knowing that dawn
would come again.