As She Whispers

In the sibilant mid-winter,

sussurus tendrils of ice-wind pawing

at the panes,

dusk arrives swiftly.

Gently, it sweeps the shroud

of deep twilight

over the frosted snow.

The somber grey of the low-hung clouds

filters the light into nonexistence

with its icy burdens,

soaking my pillows in darkness.

I lay gazing at the street lamp

as it glows in the frigid breeze.

Something flutters in the light,

maybe a snowflake, maybe

something simply imagined.

I pull the covers to my chin

and my feet from the cold

boundaries of my bed,

glad for the layers of cotton

between winter's chilly whispers

and I.

Reviews

[Skoo.]

Ben, how do you keep doing this?
You take one teensy little moment, within which is one small action that most people wouldn't even notice themselves doing, and give it brilliance and meaning...
And the really short line at the end is almost like a verbal full-stop, it ends the poem perfectly.
Well penned (: