I Love Writing and Reading Poetry
A Winter Story
Winter lets me mourn you in shades of blue,
and eventually in a blurry sort of white.
Generations before me have wept
in this harsh season of loss, and it brings
no need of an explanation.
Whispers let me make distortion
of the ghostly visitor that
sweeps through my paper thin walls
like the melody of your neon ghost,
I feel no remorse for my surface deception.
Sometimes at the entrance of my hallway
on mornings that have the right blend
of control and exploration, I can
feel the carbon of your flesh
tugging at the gypsy in me.
I can miss you in the cold chill of January
when the surface of melancholy
plays role reversal with
the silent parts of me that I keep bound up-
waiting for the pandemonium
of your black hair and bright smile
to play rings around roses again.
Winter lets me mourn you in shades of blue,
and eventually in a blurry sort of white.
Generations before me have wept
in this harsh season of loss, and it brings
no need of an explanation.
Whispers let me make distortion
of the ghostly visitor that
sweeps through my paper thin walls
like the melody of your neon ghost,
I feel no remorse for my surface deception.
Sometimes at the entrance of my hallway
on mornings that have the right blend
of control and exploration, I can
feel the carbon of your flesh
tugging at the gypsy in me.
I can miss you in the cold chill of January
when the surface of melancholy
plays role reversal with
the silent parts of me that I keep bound up-
waiting for the pandemonium
of your black hair and bright smile
to play rings around roses again.
By:
girlmcgirly
Age:
41-45
,
Female
