Cloak of my Dreams

In doubt's village
the streets are slick
with fallen hopes.

Strangers peer from
behind pained glass windows
like forgotten hostages.

I walk the dreary streets
wearing the bright red cloak
of my dreams.

I am the alien here.
Healthy from the virus
that kills the will to try.

Finding my way out is grueling.
Words spoken from long ago
chase me down echoing
cobblestone streets.

They search for me,
and the house
my gifts were born in.

I turn to face them,
a flash of lightning
winking in the distance.

I wait for them...
the worn-out fugitive,
tired of the shadow's chill.

D. Hiles