Night’s sheltering cowl, empty.
Vacuous cradle of broken youth.
I stand vigil amongst fluorescent gardens.
Bound by dollar chains.
To peddle poisons, plentiful.
Dispensing disposable succor to some.
Granting them liquid voices to howl at this night.
Clothed in nocturnal raiment you approached.
Speckled in another heritage.
Golden Dentures and easy manner.
Speaking of love of life and parting.
Silently screaming of a probable doom.
Dim echoes of chains move us, even tonight.
This small verbal exhange over gas and beer.
You pronounce the ides of march to the tune of that echo.
“This’ll be the last time you will see me.”
Beware, for it might be.
If prophetic, you walk.
May you wander far.
Be safe in your journey and may home find you.
Happy, healthy, and at peace.
Finally, if your journey should end, this night.
Know you are not not, but not forgotten.
Scribble's Blog 
Your words speak to me deeply. If I am getting it, you are morning the years of the lost self. Not sure. Feel free to correct me! I read it about 4 times because it felt so known and familiar.
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Irritatingly, it did not save all my text. I will update tonight. The totality of my intent should be clearer.
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Ahhh. Got it now much clearer yet still love it. 🙂
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