Lonely is the mist

Lonely is the mist

Scraping the concrete squares,
Knuckles ragged and raw.
Taking toll and charging fares,
The man made out of straw.

Hid and laid in darkened nook,
Awaiting for another breath.
To strike with jagged look,
the hollowed eyes of death.

Born to none but awake still,
Never gone far from thought.
Smiling upon perch and sill,
Service paid but left unbought.

Creeping through narrow gap,
Sliding across slickened floor.
Cracking tip of leather strap,
Again drawn to the short straw.

Clocks have clicked and chimed,
Saddened sigh of final hiss.
Staged exit of a life untimed,
Disappears through lonely mist.

Taraz
[ a Steem original ]