A vacuous feel

Permeates the semi-cold air

You, cool chill,

Can grip us tight, but fail to pull in

Freedom, flying by on its way to a place far-off

Trails by the early winter sunset

Spilling across the temporal glow

Filling the hardened cracks left from

The day's scattered onslaughts

Feeling, so numbed,

Appreciates the aroma left by

But thirsts, still

For aching, oozing taste

People, receding to their iron nets

Darkness, creeping out with a sneaking grin

As sentiment cakes from the surface of all things

A slow peel with a deep itch

Bares the core of truth in all

In which only the truly brazen and cold

Could find any trace of warmth

What is it that a conscious being

Could seek in this late, forthright hour?

Such a chill alights our spines

As we wrap our blankets tight

Eager to get on with the night