Blue from the Cold, Blue from the Sadness

The air is growing thinner as winter's roots grow deeper,

Her frigid breath bleaching the color from the dirt

And the warmth from the sun.

In every smile or nod I see a potential source of heat,

Someone who could weather this inclimate season with me --

But their fingers are always entwined with a hand that is not my own.

I shove my hands deep into my pockets, hunching away from the wind

As it unravels my coats and sweaters.

My back is bare, the gale of ice and snow

Lapping the warmth from my skin.

I begin to shiver violently.

I can see you; you are mere feet from me,

Bundled in warm garments,

Your gloved hands empty but for a leather bound book.

I would gladly fill your hands with my own --

But I know you would never choose me over

Your precious words and verses.

You pretend not to notice as I trudge away.

I wrap my arms around a pale grey tree,

Its bark serrated and frost bitten.

The ice is pulling my eyelids closed --

Perhaps it would be good for me to sleep awhile,

Awhile longer.

Reviews

[i.am.the.sun.]

i hate when people do this but- i think you should be "your", no? "i would gladly fill you hands with my own"
i like this, it's a nice, albeit cold place to go in your mind for a little bit. but i think the poem is all in the first stanza, and "but their fingers are always entwined with a hand that is not my own" could be removed.
either way, boy do i know that feel.

[Ben Taylor]

I'm so embarrassed D":
I obviously do not proof-read enough.

Yeah the whole second paragraph was basically just saying book = religion = better than me.

Thanks for still reading the stuff I write. I write mainly as like a therapeutic thing now, whenever it's late and I'm unhappy. Not the most intellectual muse, but a muse nonetheless.

[i.am.the.sun.]

i can barely manage to write anything lately, but i'm still getting great ideas so it's tough. your stuff is still gold man, there's just some extra stuff that's bogging it down i find. that's up to you to decide though, it's common when writing spurred by something like being up late and sad. anyways, good luck!