You feel as if you know him,
Know his world of bleak despair,
And there were things you could have shown him,
If he actually were there.
Leaning tiredly against the glass,
Mist appearing as he breathes,
He watches then the wind fly past,
Gets up, and turns around, and leaves.
Confusion tugging at your throat,
You stand outside, within the night,
And watch him button up his coat,
His shadow dark against the light.
He walks alone, and where he goes,
You follow, as if blind and lost,
He's lost as well, and this he knows,
He shouts it to the swirling frost.
He searches truth, you know his strife,
You've felt the dizzy fall,
But he is *now*, its *his* dark life,
A twin to one you can't recall.
He runs and stumbles, crawls and flies,
And you see him finding right.
He burns inside, but never dies,
Like raindrops falling into candlelight.
September 27, 2003.