Travelling late at night,
I pass by windows that glow
with warmth and light,
the homes of other, rosier lives
than mine, but I roam free,
unconvinced by their cosy lives
I am contained within the glass cage of my grief.
No one here can touch me; no one can hear me weep.
Bare crooked branches against a gunmetal sky -
It is a damp, dark day of black and white
As snow showers sputter in stormy gusts
And the wind howls, a banshee’s mournful cry.
It is a day for bleak thoughts, no end in sight
To this long winter all that it costs us.
And I find this infinity we so briefly live in terrifying