The Lantern

Morning lantern almost snuffed.
The smell of it's rust seeps stronger than it's light,
But a glow through this dense fog.
The handle proves it's strength as it pinches curved knuckles from it's weight.

It leads me on it's way as i follow.
Lost in what i believe to be a meadow.
The lack of observable distance massages the imagination, that perhaps this clearing is endless.
Perhaps I'm meant to be here.

And with further steps the trees may not exist.
Unless my memory decides to place them back.
Yet they remind me of their presence as the sound of cracking trunks flow on the wind.
Drumstick branches to beat burst ear drums.

Still such silent, solitary moments.
Where lost becomes acceptable.
Unknowing of how long this oil is to burn.
As the radiance shows me nothing but to give my position to others.

A dying light in a dreary day.
A day of grey embraced.

Wet shaking hands and an empty stomach.
Nothing quite new in this dim land.