Frozen Blood

Abandoned like a nomad, he sat on the bench daily,
Each night, without fail, whispering to himself, desolated,
As his skin felt blue, eyes swollen, and blood frozen,
He mustered his aspirations, seeping warmth from the moon,
For the brumal winter shadowed, stars twinkled for strangers,
But he held the moon with his eyes, reverberating to its gander,
One laughing in its own sense, other just cascading some light,
One watched him change his beauty daily, other seeming like a firefly,
One slaking its solitude, other, a fettered wanderer,
As strangers just came and went by his bench,
He noticed some familiar faces, from past, and future,
For these changing faces were constant, just like his muse,
Each night, he fought with the stars,
And the moon stood by in solitary,
Unfathomable deeds were about to be tasked,
The show called, “Twilight and its façade”,
One little string to hold onto, a little beacon to cast,
One smiling face, a sweet warm “Hello”,
One could light up the night, another feeling rejoiced,
As this rhythm of façades is completed and dawn again.