The Sun Never Sets

The sun never sets 
in this city.

Light clings to the horizon 
like a jealous King 
gripping his crown 
as he banishes every illegal glimmer, 
each gratuitous glow. 
It is a sky radiance raped 
and bright abandoned; 
dark, 
empty, 
no longer alight. 
Here, 
stars are fallen knights 
imprisoned 
by street lamps 
and concrete walls 
cocooned 
in expired posters 
and stale graffiti. 
There are no sparkling sapphire nights, 
no constellations 
to connect the images of childhood dreams 
birthed on Islands; 
only a dull orange haze 
hanging low 
in the distance 
and a lot of people who never look up because there’s nothing to see. 
It is a place where new faces, 
like mine, 
go as unnoticed as a misplaced moon.