Concealed Light

Just a story of this little place I like to go when it gets dark

I grab a coat,

cigarette and lighter

and slump out the door,

broken like a fighter.

My feet drag me

to my place of quiet,

where I can take shelter

from the city's riot.

The cover is dark

and the only true light

is the crescent moon

not too bright.

I jump the fence,

knowing I'm concealed

and run across

the cavernous field.

Now I feel free.

Now I feel full.

Now I feel light

in a place that's so dull.

I stop in the centre,

catching my breath.

This place is so haunting

but I'm nowhere near death.

I sink to the ground,

the dew just beginning.

It's only here

that I feel like I'm winning.

I spark up the flame,

inhaling the harsh smoke,

embracing the memories

the ashes evoke.

Eventually time's up,

I know I must leave.

I can't hide forever

from the city I grieve.

Glancing back at the dark

that invites me in,

I soak up the comfort,

the pleasure of sin.

I can't help but wonder

when I might

return to my field of dreams

with so little light.