turning up the collar of my winter coat

bracing for the chilly winds of harsh destiny and fate

that are about to lay siege on my being without malice or hate


wracking my soul & my splintered heart

with a guileless ferocity that wounds me as I stand

and rattles the foundations of the ideals that once felt so grand


i reach for and light a cigarette and drag

on that comforting crutch that will kill me so very soon

though that knowledge itself sometimes appears to be a promised boon


but leave me be and let me ramble on and on

for as the rain pelts down on this gloomy day of chilly fog

i reach for no one and expect none to help me drag me out of this bog


for we are ultimately torn and tattered as we soldier on

from battles & wounded skirmishes always seeking the higher ground

to regain some shreds of humanity that seem so deviously elusive to be found