the rooftops keep still,
although the weight of the snow pushes down,
they remain silent and motionless,
lit by moon light.
the street lights blur,
beams of tainted yellow,
bouncing off of snowflakes,
guides of the night.
the road remains covered,
few tracks remain clear,
smeared like a mistaken map,
directions are all unclear.
the sidewalks are slush,
slowing down late night pedestrians,
who push on to go home,
with damp feet and cold souls.
i stand by the mail box,
looking forward,
cold and shaking,
lost and alone