PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Winter sinking slowly down to the ground

Gray clouds now blanket this sleepy little town

And, I can't figure out were you are

You left hours ago and now the tracks of your car are covered in snow

I ran to the station where they still pump your gas

They stared with blank eyes as I caught my breath and asked

If they'd seen the pretty little girl

In the photograph I once stash of you in my wallet

With his plastered on smile

And, his unmoved eyes

And a matter-of-fact reply, he said, "Son,

I haven't seen a girl like that since 1981

When I myself asked every passing stranger

The very question you yourself just asked.

And, son, I still haven't yet."

Now, with drifts reaching higher than ever before

I prepared to fight the whether like a young and untouchable matador

With the rush of the wind like a raging, pierced, and bleeding bull

I gathered my strength from my long, cold trek home

It's been snowing for 48 hours

And, that makes 48 times I've called for you to come home

And, I could scream out until I lost my lungs

But, that'd be like milking blood from a stone

So, should the spring come

And, I find bread crumbs you laid for me to follow

Just know if it comes down to bread crumbs

I'll follow wherever they go