I walk alone down lanes time has forgot
and smell the crisp sharp autumn in decay,
the cobbles wet with sullen drizzle gray
the lanterns all a-sputter, barely hot.
My hem drags, listless, on the curb of stone,
my feathers torn and tattered, disarrayed,
recalling what Burns said of schemes best laid
and sore regretting the deaths of my own.
So what to do now that the box is bare
of all but hope? – that amethystine blaze.
Pandora’s weeping drowns the hymn of days
and hangs a short harsh echo in the air.
There is no haven safe enough for me:
the outcast – willful, wild, as yet untamed.
All shrink away as if they might be maimed
or tainted with invisibility.
So walk I shall till midnight’s madness fades
as like an orb of fire the sun awakes.
Avoiding the stern glare his curtain makes
I slip behind whatever shadow shades.
The twilight gods now paint the dying sky.
I watch the frightened scurry to their fires –
so smug, so sheltered, hypocrites and liars.
I breathe the mist of freedom’s final cry.
© 2012 RC deWinter
Seeking a place of safety in a world gone mad.