'Nighttime Neighborhood'

How alike I am to this
A lonely and empty road
Devoid of all but me
In my travels
Such these people are
These pieces of Cyrene

Alas, they are not dead
Nor are they gone
Yet neither are they here
Dormant, asleep they lie
Wrapped within a cocoon
Of nightfall and darkness

Small rays of light and hope
The last saving grace
Shine between the shutters
A testament from the home itself
And a showing of the source
From which these people came

So quiet is this unending night
So serene, yet deceiving
Young eyes watch from shelter
Following a lone traveler
Traversing the beyond
If only in my own mind

Withheld are these people
These pieces of Cyrene
From their daylight play
Not by their doing
Yet by their choice
They, like all, are confined

Penned by my hand on the 15th of Glacian, in the year 486 AF.