Winter HolidayA Poem by LoLoIn this monotone washed out city, The traffic moves slowly, But still too fast to kill time, Under a desolate ever-grey sky. When destiny isn’t real, These days lose their meaning, And the laughter gives way to silence, As the bitter cold seeps in . Through the cracked door frames and slush-speckled windows. Through too-pale limbs and never-enough layers. It settles only in bodies Shuddering from more than just cold air. Home among the dirty-snow-lined streets And lonely leafless trees, 2000 miles from the sea. The memory fades like melting snow. Dead are the places that once killed time, And lost are the ideas that ever enabled hope That this place was ever more than a shell, Or these bodies were more than just cold. © 2012 LoLo |
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1 Review Added on January 22, 2012 Last Updated on January 22, 2012 |