A Spilled Glass of Light.

A lead foot and we're racing
to red lights without patience.
Rubber burned into the road,
a footprint left on the pavement,
lines of words we could have wrote:
have been left out for the wind.

Home has never seemed so far.
The beacon of the lighthouse:
memories turned to scars.
Senses that fail me; untrusting words.
The light from the windows
spilling onto the curbs.

Nights that once were friends to us
have turned their backs in defense;
the cold has snapped all around us
and it's useless to try and prevent.

Nights that once were friends to us
have turned their backs in defense:
the cold that has shaped around us
has kept us from making progress.