have a little faith

;2 a.m.

It is two a.m
i sit
on this damp grass
as the hours pass
in the wee hours as they say
(i wonder if scotland feels this way -
looking down from their mountains in the sky
regarding lowly england from up high)

Streetlights, not houselights
lights that guide strangers through the nights
though - not strangers
you'd know them if you saw them
if you saw them undressed
from this dress
of darkness
i wonder what plight they take tonight

Streetlights, not houselights
mark the journey i must soon make
back to the shadow of the house i left -
the town holds it's breath -
though - not home -
this house was not mine to choose
this town was not mine to roam.

Streetlights, not houselights
down there, but not up here
up here
it is peaceful
watching the embrace of greyfog
my smoke, my breath, my oxygen
weaving through the air and joining the smog
as a comforting sigh
it is slow
it is sensuous
but sunrise is soon nigh

Yet a feeling
of nostalgia
becomes me:
there is where i grew up with my friends - the park
burnt and rebuilt. there are the streets i wander in the dark -
these streets, these roads
(lit only by distant lamps,
no warm flamefires tonight)
they once led me to happiness
urging me to take off, take flight.
i can't recall.
now they are trapped,
earthbound,
forced to the ground by darkness and fear.
so i sit
at two a.m
and try to remember
on this bone numbing night in november.