icy cold of winter draws you in.
Walking o'er a field of white,
without the feel of warmth's delight.
Subzero chill. The sun too bright for shadows.
A field once full of wild flowers singing in the sun.
The wind now keening in a lonely whine.
Shivering, he felt a need to find some beauty there.
The crunch of snow and broken grass below.
The leafless trees were gathering the ice.
Dreary brown with icicles of light.
sinking swiftly. Days grown all to short.
Impressed, the strings of universal chords.
Broken, all too easily, when formed.
Jangled and distorted when the springtime
was aborted yet again. The night was falling
heavily just when the wind began to speak.
Whispering of honorary deeds that led to pain.
Freezing the synapses in his brain.
Numbness chosen as a grand device.
No ecstasy, and yet no misery.
The tradeoff seemed the only constancy.
relief, the cost and then the payment.
Of never feeling anything at all.
Mired in a frozen swamp. The rushes
tinkled as the banshees called.
Was it only yesterday that autumn sang
its sadness out within the dying leaves?
He opened and received the numb.
A blessing, or perchance a curse to come.
Sitting in the meadow on a stump.
Wishing himself numb forevermore...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2004 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .