deepundergroundpoetry.com
Freezing
I'm freezing....
The power of the sun wilting from the inside out,
The feather that remains when the bird has gone.
Simply a keepsake to have and to hold when the time for leaving devours the part.
Just tired words in a weathered book that has been read to its ends,
simply a drop of rain where it hasn't poured yet.
It's freezing....
The morning after the love has past on
The ground of a wasteland littered in sticks and bones.
Introverted thorns that pierce the air with their sobs
The lacking of movement in the breeze,
The death in the air of whispers far gone.
The power of the sun wilting from the inside out,
The feather that remains when the bird has gone.
Simply a keepsake to have and to hold when the time for leaving devours the part.
Just tired words in a weathered book that has been read to its ends,
simply a drop of rain where it hasn't poured yet.
It's freezing....
The morning after the love has past on
The ground of a wasteland littered in sticks and bones.
Introverted thorns that pierce the air with their sobs
The lacking of movement in the breeze,
The death in the air of whispers far gone.
Published 20th Oct 2020
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