Going Home
He drifts like a leaf in the wind
a feather falling gently from the sky
tiny, colorless, and hidden amongst a thousand others.
He is a frozen flake in a snowstorm
cold, lost, unable to go home,
but no one sees, and no one cares.
He floats to a window,
warm, bright, full of light laughter
but he is only an imprint, an invisible wraith.
Sometimes they pity him,
a little boy, huddling in his worn coat
blown to ttters by the winter winds.
But they avoid him like the plague,
offering nothing but an insincere smile
for he is a blight to their joy, a shadow in their light.
Those insincere beings, denying the truth
their world is not perfect,
not the healthy, happy world they envision it to be.
He is cold in the darkness they leave him
numb, no longer caring about the frostbitten darkness in his heart,
tired, no longer trying to keep lively and warm.
Artemis draws the curtains, and none can see her light
Morpheus enfolds all in their sleep.
But as snow drifts more gently
on the last day of winter,
just before the first rays of light,
Lord Thanatos slips by to take him somewhere
warmer, kinder, than this heartless land.