melissaahowells
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hell is grey its the wilds of Winter hell is Grey and the snows blankets to bury it all hell isn't on fire its the burn of numbness its the pain of not feeling its the pale and the pall Winter they say is a time for slumber Winter is the time of rest but Winter is a time for feeling muffled and silent and wondering if the thaw will come again (at all.) I don't see Spring nor her green mantle I see the wraith-like winter and its drab death shroud of white no sun shines through Its darkness has gone into the earth and underground I'm buried alive and I'd rather be thrown up in a tree not six feet under Winter wears whiteness a Specter hiding in the absence of light I'm in the deep freeze of longing, sometimes worry will I ever be found or found frozen in time-- mind without sense out of rhymes Hell is grey its the savage called Winter and I'm lost within the naked forest where few birds sing and the echoing howl of the wind is the only song the little birds are hungry and the squirrel-people have forgotten to store their nuts Winter has stolen their caches and buried them deep into the frozen icebergs of snow Winter is Hell. so grey grieves my heart Still-grey, silent, pale as a ghost written as it came to me in my head '3/9/2023 legal copyright for this poem 2:10 3-9-2023 time and date stamped and also for this writer MELISSA A. HOWELLS AND ALSO FOR THIS LEGALLY COPYRIGHTED AND REGISTERED SITE TITLE MELOO STRAIGHT FROM HER TILT-A-WORLD. re-edited 4L:27Pm 3/9/2023 time and date stamped. legal copyright retained by the author/ poet Melissa A. Howells Vote for this poem |
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