The furnace fired as the five o’ clock shadow
Set foot on the hills’ crown
Setting fire to the early winter skies
Giving rise to the cold winds up high
Out of caution, maybe fear
But the warmth gave me safety
Once the darkness starts to leak
And the voices wake and speak
Telling horror stories of their lives
Of their deaths and mishaps
Some young, some sad
Some want to chase the joys of life
They walk without looking
Carrying wallets and purses
Others hunting for purpose
Finding more questions than answers
The ledgers of the night walkers
Are written on long receipts
Their names and faces almost lost
After years of blending in
Soft whispers to others unheard
Soft as the ground they paved
Softly they brush each other’s arms
So as to remember what touch felt
Some even call my name
Know my story and know my death
Yet I don’t wish to join them
In their sea of restless faces
Their cold eyes as daggers
Piercing my hopes and armors
So I chose the lit furnace
For warmth and stagnant comfort
Through the ashes the somber end
The possibilities unravel like string
Broken bit by bit they leave
Without a thread to follow or lead
The sunrise as cold as ever
Gives me pause of doubt and deception
But the smoke from my burned aspirations
Leaves me waking to the same question
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