Wintertime. Today is a stark, bleak, dreary, damp, chill-to-your bones February day. I am wishing for spring sunshine that seems slow in coming. Yearning for that which is different from what is…put me in mind of a little dark, moody poetry I had tucked away…
Darkness shrouds my blackened heart.
Which is darker? Black or death?
Open eyes see more clearly,
Open mouth gasps for breath.
Chain on soul, cold and grim,
Footfalls slowly cease to fall,
Lightly as the vapors rise,
Soaring upward, earth grows dim.
Seething cauldron cased in heat,
Cold sears, a blanket of fears.
Carry the tunes of dreams now dead.
Ancient chorus sung in repeat.
Love is hate, hate is love.
Gentle rain, a baby cries,
Rotten, ripe, harvest comes,
Up is beneath, down is above.
Cursed time shrinks my heart,
Flowing, going, bringing, singing,
Halting, hasting, cavernous waste.
Start to finish or finish to start?
It’s where I’m at, it’s where I’m from;