deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Wisdom of Eskimos

I stopped, covering
my face
in
wooly mittens, smitten with the bold cold, breath

released
into
layers of vaporous mist, evolving

like the vanishing
of the

missed, released into the color of air

&

rapture, enraptured in the scheme of a daydream, drifting
into the sight
of
night, withholding a rose of what the spirit knows: Survival.
Written by Cipher_O (WarlordoftheWrittenWord)
Published
Author's Note
Found a pair of colorful warm mittens...

The closest I have come to mittens is...

These gloves that had mittens that
could go over the gloves...

I rather like mittens...

Like pot holders...

Like being a sleestack...

:ppp

(You know there is a strain of mj called sleestack...)

I have been thinking about the Alaskan Tribes People...

Also the tribes people from my area...

It just takes me places to think of them
and how they lived...

I really try to incorporate their lifestyles into mine...

How they survived all terrains...

From swamps to snows...

I really very much like that...
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