Mild misty morning
Touch of grey
Mythic peace
A mood building
Lazy stirring
under fateful bedspreads
Coffee and chatter
In the hallways
Class as usual
Smile as usual
Shrug as usual
Pain as usual
Walls awash with fear
Anger in a box
Smashing through
In Automatic black
Just another morning
for a stone facade
and bare trees
and death foretold
the green lawns were never there
It's still winter
For him
For us
It always will be.
6 comments:
this was sad in so many ways ...
has left me scared for whats to come
i hope nothing bad
makes me mad
anyway, never mind. nice poem - as usual :)
Here's to the dead
Here's to the living
Here's to the pain
May his rage change lives...
May the Moon Stop Shining...
Every winter will be followed by a summer.
It must.
vtech was a nightmare, and watching the news on cnn made it worse. still, here i am, making my presence felt a year later. thanks for your comments...i might just [re]christen you ole faithful ;)
Virginia's death. You know her and you don't.
I refuse to believe that cynicism, realism, practicality, or whatever you want to call it prevails inside such beauty, such words.
You always leave room for the light to creep in, as evident by those candles in the middle of black smoke, of black death.
i wonder if light can always poke through. it must. it doesn't. it has to. maybe just not always in time.
the green lawns may run late, but they'll run, nevertheless. winter never lasts. and sometimes believing that is nothing more than an act of faith.
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