I frequent a well-lighted cafe'.
Outside, wraiths wander in the darkness,
a realm of hungry ghosts.
This morning even Death was there,
wrapped in a beggar's blanket,
turning to look at me.
This world is not separate from that one.
I came in from the dark,
but as I sit, and read and write,
the shadows seem to lighten,
and when I leave,
it shall be into Sunrise.
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-6-30-am-starbucks/
