Fog in the Empty Streets

Smoke grey washes over the streets, a fog, transparent to the spirits.
Yellow street lights, like a sunglow.
Hope for the alive,
A taunting for the undead.

Nevertheless, the streets are empty, only the daring are unfrightened.
There is a sound, but from no one alive.
Its only the lonliness, from so long ago.
Though it is like hope, a flickering chance.
That not all ashes will be carried by the wind.
Not like it matters,
No nothing matters no more...
As the fog becomes thickened, like molasses and covers the streets, cold like iced glasses.