The Day is Poetry

a late winter walk

The day is poetry.
With every step, a line begins to form;
Every moment, a stanza.
The air is thick with an edge;
A scythe of a late winter memory.
A sigh tumbles from my lips, and
I smell the stale rain as it begins to dry on the sidewalk.
Winter is holding on for dear life, I see,
But the March rain is proof that it’s close to over.

I walk slow, looking at my surroundings intently,
Convincing myself that maybe if I have patience,
If I do not run ahead to quickly get home before
The rain begins again,
That maybe I’ll run into someone on this same path,
Thinking that he’ll find someone else to help
Squelch this loneliness like it’s Winter.
I wish to find my own Vernal equinox,
One that needs me as much as I need his warmth.

Alas I reach the beginning of my path,
Considering the surreal walk around the common a bit redundant.
(Walking around in circles is great
when you’re a diameter away from where you began, see.)
But unfortunately I get back to where I began
Still lonely; searching…
So I go on, once more in quiet solitude,
Across the street to a home full of people, and yet
Full of solitude.

 

Author's Note

it's just a thought.

Reviews

[John McGrael]

wow, this first couple lines really drew me in!!

and i like the last two lines a lot

overall a very good write, i really like the name too

[J Carly]

I really love this,

"I wish to find my own Vernal equinox,
One that needs me as much as I need his warmth."

Well written, sis. I truly enjoyed every line. The end was wonderful too,

"Across the street to a home full of people, and yet
Full of solitude."

I love that. I've been there quite often myself.