Windows

When the light sleeps and all have washed away to rest
I walk along the many streets
Which scatter my past affairs 
Like a drifting spirit, I take the time to see

Where each stray has landed 
The strays may call this act stalking.
But most don't know it even occurs
Some of them still speak out against me
Screaming into their own personal voids
In a desperate attempt to cope with themselves 
Others say nothing at all 
And most forget 
I, however, never forget 
And possibly never will
As each rhythmic move leads to a memory
And I've never defied the urge to walk the infinite streets 
I peer into the windows that haven't frozen over
Watching, waiting, wishing, wondering 
They all seem so still
As if I were the hands that turned time 
When I have finished observing
I tend to flicker 
Unless, of course, I am observing those I fear
In most cases, I am met with darkness 
Yet occasionally a stray flickers back
Leaving me waiting, wishing, wondering 
I keep walking 
And return to all that still is 
Attempting to live my idea of a life 
Though I will again find myself on evergoing streets 
And yet again, I will peer into the aging windows
And when a window becomes enveloped in ice 
I find myself wishing, wondering 
In such times, I pour my rations away 
Pushing my heart onto another 
When all else fails, I either take to paper or insanity 
The latter occurring more often than it should
Still, either option allows me to forget my ties
So I only end up wondering 
Wondering why windows won't wave
Why windows won't warm 
Why windows weep
Why windows warn
Why windows 
Why
Why?
Why.
Why is a question not enough asked.
Maybe if someone else would just once ask why
An answer would arrive 
And I would be so preoccupied with such revelations 
That I would forget to visit the sleeping streets
Giving my strays time to disappear 
For all I really want 
Is to catch a stray
Outside a window of my own