January

Inspired by the hate that some espouse for winters in Iceland, with their lack of sun and horrific weather.

I sank into the

slippery slope

of seductive silence. 

Battered by slivers of ice

piercing my heart 

forsaken by the sun

A sojourn into hell

collar upturned 

to the tempestuous clutch of the wind.

Nearing a home 

not truly my own

a mere respite 

from the elements.

One last look back 

to the raging clouds

once a fearsome creature

in its hasty youth

now mellowed into

taciturn golden years

placated by its lack of

beings to batter.

Poised at the threshold 

hand fumbling through pockets

discovering 

damp remnants of the day

papers drenched

ink bleeding

blue 

red

black

the only evidence of passion

spent

fury forgotten.

Reviews

[Moflo]

Great, very powerful images here. The poem read so nicely too, such a fluid flow that I kept reading to the end. All in all, I loved your imagery and I think its a great write. Good work.