Alliterati.

Tiptoeing towards daylight
A mid evening madman
stands sullen in the silence
of streetlights.

Donning a mask of revelry
and a figure of much speech
while emptying the coffers
into the hands of
hangmen.

Do these moments,
being enigmatic in their purposefulness,
enhance the journey?
Or is the storyline
aimless and
alarmingly
arbitrary?

Are these shadows
friend
or fiery foe
who by their very existence
bring forth
terror
where once
peace was
planted?

It seems time will tell,
as it heals all wounds
and waits for no man
alongside
tide.

Until then we wait
as beasts low in dust
without rain,
repast,
or
repose.