Not going home.
The streets we walk she calls home.
As I close and lock my front door,
she buttons her coat and turns her collar against the chill.
As I lay down in my soft, clean white sheets,
my duvet pulled up high keeping me warm and safe,
she sits on a street bench, hard, cold and exposed.
She is me but for the roll of a dice
I am her but for fate.
Not going home because,
... she hasn't got one
Not going home.
In the half light of waking
Through the mist of an early Sunday morning,
Orange from the sunrise
the day began.
Tumble through routeen
Auto pilot along mystical tree lined lanes
Lit by the days first rays of sunshine.
The magical warmth of summer days ahead...
It's going to be a wonderful day
It seeps in through your skin and goes straight to your soul.
It is the real 'Lord of time travel',
taking you back to a time and place where the sun always shone and life was good, or to that place that is dark and which is riddled with sadness.
It logs into your 'control panel' and over - rides your emotions,
lifting them to the skies or down to the depths.
Just a snippet and you are gone,
to a time and a place,
when you were someone else and for a while...
... you aren't who you really are.
Never seen him 'round the town
never seen him in the day.
He's the 'out late man'
the 'carrier bag man'
the 'bottle of red man'.
Never seen him clean shaven
never seen him without that coat,
he's the 'out late man'
the 'never says much man'
never laughs or never smiles...
The unhappy man.
I Dreamt of white,
as if all the stars had fallen and covered the ground.
I felt the cold of children playing,
released from their chores,
busy making memories.
I felt the bite of a freeze,
saw familiar places changed -
the normal rearranged.
Time with loved ones
extra time not planned for -
hot soup and sleeping bags...
...and then it was gone