Philosophical pavements

A short poem about two of the best writers of the 19th century.

 

Philosophical pavements

By Luke Ritta

 

 

Dense fog rolls across a frosty pavement of Moscow, a black cat is darting through the streets, the cats claws making this sound, click, clack, click, clack.

The feline sniffs the boots of a old man sitting on a bench, he has a Russian orthodox cross hanging from his neck, a pipe dangling out of his ancient mouth, smoke rigs from the pipe glide into the air like

 Canon discharge.

He strokes his long white beard and scratches the cat behind one of its ears. Underneath the man's right arm is a book. It is his

 Masterpiece.

Moonlight shines on the cold frosty streets, where a small cat stands next to a man named

Leo Tolstoy!

 

*

 

Melancholy rain drops hit a old man wearing a top black hat, his polished boots making this sounds, click, clack, click, clack across the wet shinny pavements of desolate

Paris.

The pavements are stained with sin, the old man is stained with greatness, he holds a book under his left arm, it is his

Masterpiece

The eyes have wisdom like no other as they watch a working lady sitting in a dark corner of the wet street, she is holding her sad face in her dirty hands. The old man looks down at her then walks off home like a living martyr.

The man's name is

 Victor Hugo!

Reviews

[Elaine]

Hmmm. I liked it. Victor Hugo.

[Samantha ~virginpoet]

different bunt in a good way
I liked it