fauxcroft

The morning cold,

Chilling your bones,

The silence of a place,

Far from home,

The endless stream,

Of muddled thoughts,

Words in the mind,

Confused, contort,

Into a vortex of nothingness,

Yet convincing self

You are blessed.

You muster yourself

For another day,

In this alien foreign hide away.

Dreams of home,

And longing for warmth,

Barely now enter thoughts,

Isolated, lost, alone,

Far away from kith, kin and home.