Wasteland

How I long to walk
Those lonely lanes of memory.
Ashen snow falls from
Ashen skies.  Silent Streets,

Rusty cars, peeling houses,
No streetlights, low clouds.
The hidden moon hangs heavy.
I stride - as the snow falls - light.

My world is beautiful in monochrome:
Resplendent, reassuring desolation.
Dormant senses clear my mind
As I walk alone.

As the world ends for a breathless
Moment, I wrap myself in hope.
The cool air of an unexpected winder
Apocalypse tastes like a new beginning.

Sometimes I remember; I miss that moment.
Its transcendent isolation
Always robs me of my power,
Only to renew it.

----

Last night, I set out for that wasteland memory,
but It was not the same.  Nor was I.  You see,
We cannot be surprised by that which we embrace.
I have become the wasteland, and moved away.
But now I turn a corner, see a ghost:
A shadow of the moment, which can open what was closed.