You hold the promise
of an evening sky,
colourful with
the obligatory spots
of darkness.
For reasons of
self-preservation
my curious mind
is not allowed
to solve yet another
intriguing puzzle.
Gone are the days
when I considered it
a lofty purpose
to fix problems
I did not create.
My winter heart has
accumulated too many
bruises to rise to
the bait of curing
another soul.
november child 