November Morning

There I stood within the mist
Where the white and silence kissed
And only the darkened cavities
Of empty windows and alleys
Faded into existence, like sullen ominous ghosts
Stalking me in the brittle spittle of November's morning mist.

I shuddered, damp and fevered
In a world drawn with delicate silver
And the road at my feet forgot to finish
A thought lost; a futile wish.
I walked to the edge of the road in the fog
And there in silence relinquished.

Another ghost to the morning dew
A musing in sleep that waking slew
So like the road, I am forgotten in this
My thoughts lost with a futile wish.
Fading from existence, a sullen subtle host
Standing alone in the brittle spittle of November's morning mist.