what is like to steal the weather
from somewhere else,
instead of the blues,
like a thief in the night
take the Sun and make
the day bright
while they tear at the
clouds for the usual share
of shining sun,
a cold hearted ****,
possessing stolen warmth
the crooked old man I am
with two left feet and cane,
hope they can't track my
steps across the dreamy
starry night back to
my hovel now heated
by rays of a borrowed
ball of molten light
burning guilt into my
back and my shaded eyes
looking down and
to the left, telling lies
about where I was,
with no alibi, and my
permanent burnt fingertips
leaving imprints looking
like sunspots,
showing me to be
that thief in the night.  

©ClemC082013