Who nights

We are waking and sleeping, dreaming and despairing, all in and all without. Who are we? The endless nomadic thoughts take me from one cold endless night to another. What is this with cold nights? They keep me shivering and strangely warm within, the train it rattles the whole night through nameless towns and hills, all I can think of is some fantastical lights , sparkling drops of laughter and my glories. The orange of the sky blending into the ink blue and the grey all around, flying a thousand miles up in the air, and all I want to think of is freedom and love.  Mystical stars and me chasing their twinkles, sitting all alone and still all without and all I can think of is some conversations to shoe the night by. What is it with all that goes on within? All I am thinking of is lying flat in a mountain stream and feel the water submerge me in its coldness. What is it with streams and me? You seem to be in my every dream and yet I can't take a dip in you. Like a thirst I cannot quench any of you, my nights, my dreams, the silhouettes I can never decipher, bring me a drink, for all there is somedays, is an old cask whisky to make me slowly drift away on a boat in the sleepy sunshine of evenings, over the stream in my backyard and stare far into the sky and wonder where are the stars behind the dying rays of sun. What is this in my eye? A longing , a determination, a loneliness and also the love of all I have been given. The warmth of so many who love me, the peace of the nights and the self determined pace of life. But then there are dreams and in those dreams are sunlit streams and there is me finding myself bit by bit in my small hilltown of dreams. And there is those whistles through the trees, calling me deeper into the woods as I dither and vacillate on the edges.

Aching flights of fancy

Listen, I said to no one in particular,
I want to fly down that mountain,
Soar on the wings of my soul and call valleys below names,
Paint some orange on the white floating clouds and make them rain as I go piercing through,
Fall flat into some lake between the mountains and rise frozen phoenix from the waters,
Then sit and wonder about life, my apparent loneliness midst our togetherness,
long nights of restless dreams and fantastical beasts who fail to get me through those  long night chases,
My heartbrokenness amidst the aching love of the mountains, the darkness within amidst the white and greens all around.
Call me names if you must, but don't call me back.

I used to

Yes, I used to dream, many dreams fantastical.

I used to laugh, I used to care and I used to love.

I used to gaze at twinkles, through endless dark nights.

Now on the days when the fog lifts and the moon shines through, reminisce is all I do.

I am the left over from a banquet, stale and foresaken. 

I can't leave and I have overstayed my welcome.

I am the crooked smile in a sea of grimaces.

I am the mad man sulking in the corner, enraged but smiling.

I am the nightmare that ends a night of fitful sleep.