I like walking in the fog.
I like the cold.
I love being damp,
Because wet’s taken wrong,
Wrong’s ‘round the corner,
But one or two more steps,
And inches nigh, disfigured.

When the sun burns through,
And it does,
I feel like I’m on fire,
But happy with being bright,
Being light. “Light” being –
It’s been awhile
Since I’ve seen the sun.

So I fall in love with the sunrise,
The light and not the stranger.
“It’s the real deal,” I mumble,
But funny enough,
I miss the fog over time,
And the stranger even more,
And slightly later.

He coughed in the corner,
With a mangled leg.

He smirked under stars,
With a bowl pocked rice.

They’d spit, they’d scoff,
With their children in tow.

I’d drop change,
With lint left a pocket.

But he’d buy beer knowing –
All’d be well tonight.

dew patters
upon the chestnut carpet
autumns melody

Below early morning grey, footsteps echo through structures
as
reflections glisten and soft rain fills my face.

Alone but for my dog, the chorus of birds and the soft rustle of bare branches, shadows of trees portrayed on whitewashed walls
and the soft rumble of water trickles by in the kerbside.
I think of Dylan for a moment, seeing the darkened windows and the silence of the dumb found town.
Then, as I turn the corner
the beacon of home sits waiting at the bottom of the hill.

There's a sorrow for every season,
When you're a target for love's treason.
The bittersweet and twist that's raw,
There is no love without the fall.
Love is gory; tears at the heart,
Never pauses at the start.
You may vow to skip the pain.
One day, you'd die to love again.

In the springtime, love is young.
In the summer, burns in the sun.
In the autumn, hearts may ache.
In the winter, hearts will break.
Once a hopeful, spry young man
Has been haggard by love's hand,
He may vow to skip the pain.
One day, he'd die to love again.