The Wake

Walking a dark night of the soul
Grooves through the grief and rejection
The indifference of my companions
Anonymity and protection
Some desire creeps in for night to take me;
We sit instead in his cold apathy
In the quiet room of winter awakening
I wait bated; he only stares back at me
Bored with my existence:
Our bond is an old one.
I have nothing left to say,
No passion to embolden.
Neither of us has the energy
To strike the other.
We sit still, numbed by chill,
Interred by the cold that covers

The graves of all seasons.