January
By onemorething
- 1438 reads
I was January,
a brumal bride and,
slack-souled,
the blood roamed my body,
glacial-paced. Heart purpled,
it pumped its bruise;
then I was the anaesthetic
of winter who in my love poverty,
watched the warmer months
of others unfold, unable
to transcend the heaviness.
A January who shivered
my words, bleached and ossified,
until my brittle lines could unfurl and
reach out their moon fingers.
Image from pixabay.
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Comments
This wonderful poem is our
This wonderful poem is our Facebook/Twitter pick for today. Please like and share if you agree.
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Good choice. Drew.
Good choice. Drew.
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yes - very good choice.
yes - very good choice. Please don't ever stop onemore!
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Hi onemorething,
Hi onemorething,
I just love this poem with it's gorgeous chilly use of metaphors. Especially love those last four lines that sum up the poem for me.
Beautifully done and thank you for sharing.
Jenny.
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I was running out of
I was running out of adjectives to describe your poetry, o.m.t., and I found one that fits the bill on this occasion: sublime.
Best wishes, Luigi
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