First it creeps on autumn's tepid breath-
a snap on your tongue,
a soft spoekn sigh,
"There is only a short time left."
it hides in the painted canvas of leaves,
whistling in your lungs
when you say goodbye-
Patiently waiting for the season's first freeze.
There it stays for a while,
perhaps lost,
until Fall has run
its last colorfully drawn out mile.
Then it sprouts from the grass;
a field of frost,
diamonds in the sun,
crystal ferns pressed against the glass.
And all at once it descends,
falling in flakes
that cling to hair,
breaking past the season that only bends.
Everything is covered in cotton, white
like the frozen lakes
and breath in the air.
The sun's rays are caught, and magnified.
So winter has come in all its shining glory-
blue skies,
white earth;
but there is an end to every story.
Icicles begin to melt their final tears
for goodbyes
and rebirth,
and begins to dream of the coming year.
LOOOOOOOONG!
I like writing poetry. Not all of it is going to be a historical epic or an ode to something. These are like little glimpses of the subway in my mind; my train of thought isn't always artsy or symbolic or deep or meaningful, but I like to think that art takes ordinary things and makes people see a sort of beauty in them. So, look around- I've been doing this for a while. Enjoy ♥
1 comment:
but oh so good =)
and yes, i want to get an instant. it's such a shame that polaroid totally sucks, and discontinued making them. soo i've been searching the internet, and have found a few. i got outbid the other night at the last moment, but i won't let that happen again!
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