The Cold Summer Breeze

Just another piece of poetry written in the throes of crises. When sad or angry, or consumed by helplessness, to write is to save one's soul.

The cold breeze bites through the cotton and bone,
And the sorrow sucks the marrow away.
For there isn't a soul who can wrap their arms,
'Round the breeze to make it okay.

So the breeze it will blow, through the hair of a man,
And it will coo in his ear so he might.
But when he turns to show love, and he reaches his hand,
The breeze whisks through his fingers in fright.

For the breeze knows quite well that it can never be held,
And it has given up hope for that goal.
Though the man still holds strong to the memories long,
When the breeze made that poor man feel whole.

And as the breeze did die down, and settle to ground,
It remembered that shaggy man's hair.
The feelings pushed back to keep sorrow in tact,
That left both all alone in despair.

Reviews

[jacob erin-cilberto]

and many women can't be held...but we can touch them with our fingers...just can't hold too tightly...

or they will blow away and chill the bone of the heart.

really like this...