The Morning After

As he opens his brown-green eyes to morning sky
There is undoubted reassurance of  his place in this boded world
As he creeps from his resting spot near the dying fire
There is dubious silence surrounding his fate
Not a soul to speak with, just like in days past
He suddenly cannot remember how long it had been
Was she there yesterday; Or do the spectres of his past promote confusion to his ritual
Drawing upon his pen, and the day's first smoke, He opens up his tattered bound pad
Tears, sweat and time have marred its once magnificent cover
In the journal he keeps his dreams, hopes and fears
They are but safer there, shielded from the world and all its madness
But to talk of such, one wonders if the Dreamer is yet Mad himself
Not angry, no, yet Mad like the Hatter from an old tale
One but must watch his movements to know these answers
For here in his journal, Secrets he doth keep
He writes today of friendship lost, trust faltered
He hopes tomorrow the words will change
May time soften his road and show him his future
Yet he live high on today, and not false promises of tomorrow
Lest his head be above yonder clouds, and he misses what he cannot see
Finishing his ritual, he grabs his bedroll and moves on yet again
Broken pieces and memories dangle on the ground in his wake.....ED