the seasons change
but the foolish heart still sees
what it wants to
feels what it wants to
believes what it wants to
and those things
don't lose their grip
at all
they never lessen
they strengthen
they obscure
they mystify
and they carry a
wayward mind
forward
though he dwells so
lengthily
in the hollowed hallways
the paint that scabs
and crumbles from walls
fading colors
of fonder times
they warm the heart
but drop the stomach
Drop the Dreamer to his knees
he'll curl up on the floor
in the loneliest corner
cobwebs for blankets
ideal thoughts to distract
from the unforgiving cold