new poem

The solitude.

Night times are
the coldest.

Not because of
the temperature

But mostly because of
the solitude.

Its not that I’m alone, its just
the lights.

At night the lights glow and mix with
the fog.

Everything seems to shine with that glow, like
the happy memories recalled.

It seems that the misty glowing trees swaying above
the dark and shining wet concrete

Make it easier for a mind to wander far and wide, to
the foolish places.

Everyone knows that a mind ought not to wander alone at night, in
the solitude.

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