in the heat of winter

come december,

the sun will weep,

for the untouched earth,

in despair's melody

the brazen moonlight,

will shine on white,

and the warmth of my soul,

will declare war,

in the face of snow

but,

should the freight of death,

approach my skin,

i will speak of the ache,

that lingers between my lungs,

and he will know,

to mend my heart,

with shades of your hair,

he will know,

to decorate your absence,

in the colour of my life

Reviews

[Ern M. Yoshimoto]

what a riveting poem. starting from the title 'in the heat of winter' this oxymoron grasped my eyes, and gave us a hint of where this is going: 'and the warmth of my soul, / will declare war, / in the face of snow'! and i really liked the line 'i will speak of the ache, / that lingers between my lungs,' it's very clever and avoids cliches. i hope the freight of death doesn't approach your skin any time soon and that you keep writing!

[Pryde Foltz]

The seasons do offer an odd comfort to the lovelorn. An elegant write. Beautiful:)

[Paul in the Buff]

Love this.

The site wants me to say more for a review, but what more could be said?

[barf]

Thank you Paul! I’m glad you love it.