The ice-wind has loosed itself here
The sands have been covered
In the frozen white
The seas have grown cold
Where once they were warm
As holding hands
The grass has snapped
Shards left in the frost
And the sun glares
From the sky
White, uncaring
Cloth, carelessly undone
Blows listless in what remains
Of the bitter air
As I search the horizon
With unfocused eyes
The highway is miles behind me
On the other side of the hills
In which I lost me
I’m not seeking anything
Have I given up
This time
Unwilling to remain
On these worn feet
Resting my head
On flat stone
Able but unwilling
To move
And my hand fights
With this?
What is the word?
This pen
Am I nothing but tired
And on what great thing
Have I worn myself
Not raw
There is nothing
Of the pain
Of being flayed
This is the dour ache
Of fading
That of the cold
When it seeps into the bones
Nothing but need
For sleep
And I do not need sleep
I want free of this ice
I dare not sleep
And become imprisoned here
The music mocks me
The word soaked pages
Lose me
I am made of smoke
A solid puff
Obliterated
In the still air
Dropped from some
Golden flagon
Into the snow drift
A crimson stain frozen
Into the pristine
Blue-white coat
Why is there snow here
Why must the wind blow
Do they not know this place
The island law
There shall be no winter
This is not the foot
Of the mountains I left
That sacred, hidden place
Tucked into the crook
Of the mountains arms
This place is to be warm
To keep my shivering
At bay
And it is not
Within such simple law
And if I should move
Will the rain itself
Come down
And freeze too?
____________________________________
Originally published
June 13, 2011 5:15 pm
Paper Screams 