The town is hidden by the dark of night
As I traverse the empty city streets.
I get a glimpse underneath the road lights
Of how missing puzzle pieces complete
All of the picture which I cannot see.
There are stories being told in the haze,
And I’m just paying the admission fee
For my story is told during the days.
I am nothing but an interloper,
Trying to look deeper in the shadows
For an invitation that will never
Come. But still my curiosity grows.
How do I become a part of that tribe
When they will not allow me to imbibe?
John Collings 