season of dreary impressions

A Poem by Warrick

One of November's Last Songs; 2009. -- Just started writing something. Ended up with this. Not sure if I like it or not; but it reflects some of my thoughts. ... Winter is beautiful at times, but. It's the time of the year where I get depressed for no rea

forms of gray and undefined
drift in droves through bleak slate skies
malign and ambling with no sense of coming demise
i watch the march with low keyed thoughts
eyes reflecting cold colors
the frigid swathes
dull and numb to the hidden sun
forgotten with the rain fall
drowning sums

call the hounds and bring them in
i feel the weight of the world pressing -
with unseen hands like the howling winds
plucking strings ripe with the rust
from the fingers that have passed in past
across and over
stretching under
always tugging
tearing asunder
out of tune and brittle as weakened bone
resounding through a hollow home

incline an ear; listen -
the ambiance here is not amiable
it vexes and festers, taking hold
like a constricting vine choking -
echoing the chill of ages old

this is the season when the gloom settles in
when the worst comes to loom on all sides of the glass
painting dreary pictures and digging up the dead
signaling the ghosts to come
and dim the lights
to nothing
a dark that is stale and bitterly alone
where no warmth can touch
or ever dream to thaw
the clutches so tight
to breathe is to drown

it is here, right here
we try to thrive
feeble attempts to ignore the ominous skies -
slow faces pass by on cluttered streets
empty and reserved for a long off spring
these are the times where i've wished to go
the times i've wished to disappear
complete and fully from my position here
yet with no strength
i persevere
walking with the skeletons
of what people used to be...

muscles twitch
sore and cold
lethargic and lamenting the wordless songs
of no one and naught
this silent aria
drifting with the clouds
on whims and impressions
i can only scatter uncollectively across pages
and hope against this towering wall
forming and closing around
the whole of my whole
my core and my soul

i wish these gloomy day dreams
and dreary impressions
would flare up too full
burning over and out
and leave me alone
yet such things are shattered
as easy as ice
crushed under foot
no mercy
no cries

so i sit and watch those floating gray clouds
knowingly giving in to the fold -
for realistically
there is no hope in this cold