Cold Case

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Comes the frost upon the windowpane
We feel its chill, touch it we cannot
Lays its pattern out, an artist cloaked in pain
Until his creation is bethought.

The world surrenders locked away in rime
Each fragile finger reaches out to touch
Falling short broken frozen each by time
Our carnival of impulse flee their lust.

Warmed by perspiration, tears and fears
We leave our scar to break a lattice pattern
Learn surrender to its fates’ sharp spears
The frost endures the cold its burn.

Silent unawares long rest unworried
By Spring lost in love on a distant pole
Its promise all we have is buried
Snow drifts quietly o’er the Soul.

One comment

  1. Reblogged this on huntersjames and commented:

    Finding ice in the middle of the summer takes some digging! If these words give comfort, a cool cloth to the forehead, a splash of water, maybe the prism of a drop of water, melting what you thought was frozen? Then all the better. Love.


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