Night-light rains down in the field of wolves,
Their names called, summoned at once.
Crying and screaming, the masses run,
From the beasts – the savages.
Bottle in hand, legs afloat,
Climbing trees – falling into heavy arms –
Strangers arms, unwelcome by the recipient.
Heart breaking, secluded to the dark beside stone walls.
Ground-worms, the eerie winds of euphoric glass.
In the trailer, painfully few beside;
Outside, the golden world goes on,
Laughter, chaos, the hugs of youthful sentiment.
The Forgotten, the Shadows in no light,
Weaving like willow around stronger trunks;
In the chinks and the chimes-
Kissing, looked on upon with bleakness of vacuum.
So, the bottles are empty;
A world turned hazy with grim solitude.
Nothing before. Nothing after.
What had I been expecting, a change in base temperature?
Morning light, and lingered pride,
Loving all around, but honestly, nothing inside.
Taken home, forgotten thoughts-
Trying to forget.
Images of possibility,
Voices that could have been, and might have been,
If only it weren’t for battered sanity.
Some things are never.