Monday, February 18, 2013

Lost In The Fog

i wear the night as London cloak
through fog heavy alleys upon
cobblestone brick, cold
and high collared

somewhere in this dark passage
is a door hiding the hearth
full of warmth, ethereal glow,
and rest, to the lonely of lonelies

this cloak i wear not by choice
but by reason of insanity
for what else could it be
to have already passed
so many doors of shelter

the morning will come
once again finding me
the desolate outcast
blinded by the dark
of the high collars
i insanely call comfort