Lonesome few

Nights are cold,
Everyday I feel more old,
Life goes on,
I feel like I'm waiting for the rising of the sun,
Stumbling around,
To my own sound,
Shuffling along slowly,
Trying to do things gently,
It seems that even if I do,
I still find things that need glue,
Things that can't be fixed up,
How do you fill a broken cup,
Seems to me life slides through my hands,
Like shifting sands,
Always in motion though seemingly motionless,
The wind's chilly caress,
Feeling her icy fingers glide,
As she teasingly whispers to confide,
Silent secrets hidden,
Forbidden?
Yet she wanders along the path set for her,
Leaving making my heart not even stir,
As soon as the emotionless wind appeared,
The wind continued on and disappeared,
Rustling the trees,
Harassing the bees,
As I sit and wait for what,
Everything blurs into a blot,
The light I yearned for,
Seemed to have moved on to the next score,
Left in a dusty haze,
As if it was just a passing phase,
Moved on to brighter pastures,
Left me sliding into insane raptures,
Still cold seems to be my friend,
It seems I guess I'll be numb to the end.