I drink of the ink
of the words of yesteryear
a nourishment of grief
for a heart hopelessly hungering
for departing joys that stroll away
into distances of fog and pipe smoke
bliss danced swinging around lampposts. mind broke
now cracked with age and wrinkled thoughts
like puddles glistening on the pavement
in weary night after joyful splashing day
unclear, yet awakened under golden candle light
by the drink of the ink
a nourishment of grief.
Memoirs of a Pedestrian 