November Graveyard

The streets line up before me
Like a November graveyard
All cold, silent and grey
Yet still I feel warm inside
Still I hear a sweet sound
Some may think me mad
To walk through a winters rain
Smiling like I’m half possessed
Smiling like I’ve become detached
From the surroundings about me
They do not see my thoughts
Or hear what I think anyway
Why should I even care
About these inhabitants
Of a grey November graveyard
Winter is laying its cold hand
On every tree and garden
Stripping them bare
Still I smile regardless
Senseless to my surroundings
Perhaps who is to say
Only I know the truth
And the truth suits me

poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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