JACKET

So fond of the scribble
I'm a seeker of themes 
Just some pen and paper
To improvise those that seem
As they seem to my naked eyes
Uncivil and unkind

I'm a graveyard of possibilities 
Stuck under mounds of time
Six feet under the ordinary
Penalised for conscious crimes
A little afraid to react
A little afraid to attract

On this train of promise I ride 
In the hope of reaching home
To rid myself of this disease 
But here I am; cold, alone.
Did I build this or did I make it mine?
Do I jacket myself from sunshine?

-K.G.