Cold
A poem about how I feel at times during the midnight hour of the soul.
it's getting cold
as the days are growing old
the winter is coming
the winter of the soul
I wonder why
as I wander by
why am I so lonely
when so many are near
yet as I lean against the glass
watching people pass
for a moment its crystal clear
then its gone just as fast
it leaves me shivering in my fur
when those missing emotions stir
every time someone walks past
the thought of a friend at last
but every day all i see
where I should be
in the mirror is a mask
is it to much to ask
is it me the reason why
every day inside I die
or is it them who stand aside
quietly,as I wander by