Outside the wind is sound
the sign of an autumn sunrise
gray clouds heavy
winter’s grasp on reality
hot coffee in hand,
soothe my anxiety,
my refuge from the cold,
a suitable blend in a cup.
Outside the wind is sound
the sign of an autumn sunrise
gray clouds heavy
winter’s grasp on reality
hot coffee in hand,
soothe my anxiety,
my refuge from the cold,
a suitable blend in a cup.
Formations are the same in the evening sky,
Wherever I glance I can be next to you again,
Miles away yet I am still wanting to be with you,
Not as much in the physical sense as intellectual.
I want you to help me to solve some riddles,
And it seems likely well especially now,
When I am spewing out these words to Henley,
I can write forever and try to figure out just why,
But I cannot,
I still am unable,
I’m drawn,
Tight
To a sort of noose of reality,
That piece of recognition suggests I am wrong,
And no one cares to correct me anymore.
Outside, the stars align the same way,
Every night.
Social manners inside the hour of night
Delightful laughs, patterned clever asides
Within the moment of an hour might
Lives remain intertwined as time abides
Certain personas come to life in bars
The sort our moms suggest we avoid
Yet, quite frankly fun breathes under the stars
Fake accents that quietly fill the void.
Drinks become a commodity as time
Begins to wane while your impulse takes chance
Will you look spectacular or sublime
When morning calls whence we pull on our pants.
The sparkling sun that exposes our face
Cannot then hinder last night’s even pace.