PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Through all the long winter, bitter and cold
in the darkness of the snow, I wept.

Tears of cold ice falling and stalling
the inevitable conclusion. A whisper

insists upon an answer but I have
none to give. A voice demands an opinion

but my opinion is that I am empty. Through
all the long winter, bitter and cold I

watched you depart from me. I am aware
of the patterns of your thoughts and so

I read a book and pretended you were
not in the room. The children played

unaware that their parents were fallen
shapes of despair. The dog ran in a

circle and we watched, unwire that the
circle was the pattern of our life. I don’t

want to hear your words and yet I have
heard them in my heart. Going out

every night is your manner of stressing
the state of our telephone messages. The

phone rings and in answering I have
developed a phobia for the sound of

bells and conclusions. I open again
the book of certainty and pretend

that the colour of life is yellow even
when the walls get painted black all

around my suffering soul. Someone
is knocking on the door and I suspect it

is the police coming to arrest our
emotions. In jail we can circle our

freedom. In prison we can lock
our door and open it no more.