The Lonely Gather Like Sheep These Nights

Water trickles down the stone walls and puddles gather, revealing the uneven ground.

I noticed today the yellow leaves and mossy benches along the sidewalk. 

I noticed also how lonely people gather together like sheep in the cold.

I see what could have been.

A cold tear trickling down my face at times

And I know that if I had stayed in that old town, my home town,

I would have fallen asleep.

Grey hairs sprouting, and wrinkles curving their way into my skin.

It’s a place of death. Of lost friends and dreams that failed.

It’s a place where you always wish you were somewhere else, But coming back somehow is a comfort.

Well, in theory it’s comforting, for a while.

Now the rain is falling harder.

The moon is obscured by fog

And the night is black ink.

My senses only capture a lovely sound tonight, swirling about.

People say rain is when God cries and I say not.

It’s a million angels snapping their fingers, clapping and tap dancing.

These past few nights, hardly any of us have slept adequately,

Yet I never felt closer to any of you.

We were gathered at the hardest time of year, pulling each other along.

I hardly know what it means to be awake anymore.

I hardly know what it means to be alone.

A sleep over, heart to heart talks, good coffee, movies and tears.

A long walk in the falling trees under a dripping foggy sky. 

I trip sometimes on the uneven ground, or slip in the puddles.

Currently, my warmest boots are the most wet.

But let’s take a walk anyway, again,

Because lonely people are here today, gathered like sheep.

The rain slows and my bed starts to feel increasingly like sinking sand.

Eye lids slightly falling…