Stark outline of the leafless
utters on an icy breeze
against a slate of dark grey skies
whispering their dreams of spring
into a clarity of startling air;
an artistry of irony in beauty spent
on sparkling make-believe.
The wind whips by
and ashen skies become a leaden weight
as limbs that barely seem to breathe
uphold a snowy symmetry of white
that glimmers only on occasion
for the sun is on the run
to shine in variation
of an earthen cyclic scheme.
No color comes to save this
the sunlight seems so far away,
and brightness now becomes no more
than a sickly shade of gray
that lasts too long;
e'en songbirds will refuse to sing
a song of harmony, for spring
seems oh, so very far away.
A scent of wood-fires burning,
is caught upon a current of the wind
and thus ascends while flames untamed
rebel into a universal pull of gravity
that lives beyond these earthen realms
yet seeks to know all living form.
As a deity of ice and cold
seems out to take revenge
in sullen moods of solitude
that speak of vast dominions
overwhelmed within the fury
of these icy winter storms
hardened by the feel of ice
that never seems to warm.
Vital energy is in recession
as if a vast procession of funereal attire
blanketed the earth and sky
in somber, mournful lullabies
that speak of unremitting
and thus an utter unrequited love.
Even angels up above have
to fly within our lives,
for this weighted pace is just too slow
to hold their beating hearts in paradise
and ice has formed upon their wings;
while their soft, sweet harmony
is blocked just as the flow
of burbling springs has ceased to mend
the silent blanket left when storms subside.
How I long for golden sunshine
through a clarity of blues
and light and fluffy clouds
that hold no harm
but simply drift on currents
so alive with warmth
that seeds will dare to lift their heads
and drink the sight and scent
of life abounding.
Oh, to see the springtime
rustling the glowing green of leaves
as life begins to form again anew
but for right now, I'd settle for
the simple phrase of "I love you"
spoken in all warmth, to see me through
these days and nights of icy cold
when vast horizons simply
stark outlines of the leafless trees
in an utterance of glimmering;
as fire and ice now come to meet
whispering a dream of spring
and azure skies that sing of mystery...
Copyright© 2000 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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