Melancholy     

briefly there's a window easily accessed.
its rare loneliness, still touches, skin deep
it's the night with windows rolled down
with empty roads. it's the rain
on the lake, and no one knows;
they've rolled down the blinds.
it's the dusk and moonless sky,
cautious awareness of dim lit
stars, though they hide.
it's a storm in no where, winds
never die, and there's cold
felt through your skin, and
you're feeling a hundred
years old.