The night is most comforting
When the chills and shivers
Are outweighed by the warmth of a welcoming ignorance
While the sea of stars, seemingly endless
May momentarily provide solace to a sailor lost at sea
Eventually the horizon returns
To remind the lost soul of its vacancy

There is a “For Rent” sign
As old as the neighborhood itself
Riddled with wilted flowers
Decorated by rustic bullets
While the vacancy screams for a tenet
Who may momentarily provide redemption,
Something, at least, to fill the space that has been empty for so long
It has forgotten what warmth once was,
There is no number to call
No realtor daring to step close
For if they do, they themselves are riddled with wilted flowers
Decorated by rustic bullets

While the moon illuminates a drunken smirk
And shines upon fortunate forgotten regrets
The sun steals its place soon enough in the morning
The horizon returns the gift of once thought lost
Chills and shivers
For while the sailor dreams of finding his land after so long
There is momentary comfort in the sea of stars
For he knows nothing else