The Write Place

The city, dark and foreboding

Every side Golems flanking

Street lights lighting the way

Like little suns making pockets of day

The sounds of life the self surrounding

Echoes off of buildings bounding

Concrete earth beneath your feet

Shifting shadows move discrete

Past hollers hostile

Walking on to a private domicile

Striding onward seeking shelter

Bouncing among the lamplights halos

Ascending up the stairwell space

Unfurling keys at the doors stolid face

Passing over the threshold

Closing the door and locking it cold

Safe at last, in that squared abode

In that Golem safely stowed