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