Bright Lights

I did an assessment on my personality and temperament to be told that I am an extreme introvert. As is usually the case, I didn't need to do a quizz to learn this. I wanted to be told. For somebody who hates crowds, tears up within noisy chatter, my work space is Life on Mars. I love people, that works for me. Each morning as I walk out into the clouds cuddling the mountain, I am hit by a blast from the splintering street lights.  They are not my friends, neither do they navigate because the burns to frayed places push me away from 
any call for help.

Achilles bleeds to attest defeat,
that bristles and blunders 
within the dawn.
Who will cool such aching feet,
wry, blistered ,
pressed on thorns.
A burnt out seeker
appeals dark eyes,
but dares not reach the pain,
as wanderers in search of hope, 
touch each mirage in vain.

why work the hours
when most must rest, 
yet few break breath and blood.
So hurt beyond your learned pace, 
as hope deceives the dream with mud.
Who dares to dream,
must flirt with fate,
forgive your fears,
as you wait, alone.
Each star alight,
sings odes of hope,
softly breaks the heart of stone.

That darkest moment, 
threatens hours that 
tempt us to see black.
No trust or promise
to fulfil could
stop us turning back
then heavy eyes
sweet with despair, 
look up to find the coal, 
those promised gases 
break the char, 
our story will be told