Untitled

A very personal poem, but also relating to issues far too many people know about.

Frost.

Sharp, icy frost.

Glaring from the ground, the bright white attacks.

The skin around your eyes tightens.

You try to save yourself from the intrusive assault.

 

The trees bow their heads to their cruel new master,

their long, sweeping hair covers their broken faces;

hides their shame from your crinkled skin.

But not his.

 

His blue fingers creep underneath their sweeping locks

as they sneak their way up your back.

Shivers.

Bright. White. Eyes shut tight.

 

Oh, but he is beautiful!

White as teeth in the dark.

Robes, all-consuming, smothering the world in softest needles.

Sweet as glass.

A vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty.

 

Brighter than the sun.

Blacker than the pits.

But the darkness will swallow the glow,

and light burns out despair.

All is well.

 

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Reviews

[ANTO]

Brilliant (pardon the pun) opening stanza - the glare tangible - the minutea described so well.
Superb personification of the trees -
meretricious - class - had to google - thanks for a new word in my vocab Ciara :)
The end stanza sings like an Irish lilt and soothes like a lullaby - you are very talented my friend.

[Preliving]

The line "A vast, vulgar and meretricious beauty" is actually a quote from The Great Gatsby!

[ANTO]

Oh I see - thanks :))

[Rob Santana]

Intense moments, it has mystical feel to it.

[Cambion]

You've done more than attempt to write poetry; you've actually accomplished it, and here it is! It's a fortunate thing that you took the risk in revealing your art, because I think you have a real knack for it! If you keep putting that pen to paper or those fingers to keys, you will delight the universe.

[Preliving]

Thank you so much! I really appreciate you taking the time to read and review!