Clouded Perception

Brendan Mathieu

The walk back was cold.
Black of the night: not quite as bold
As before.
The early bird broke the silence of noir.
He was laughing at me; not knowing why,
I stopped and gazed at the night’s eerie eye.
Off a lonely puddle, its point reflected.
Read by my head, the message neglected.
Hazy with a clouded view of the best fit,
Truth never breaches the sternum of the desperate.

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