December

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  • Dark Poetry

    December

    December always finds me cold
    Like virgin snow on a dying rose
    the chill of twilights sleek approach
    The dying light of nights encroach
    It’s ever dark for everlong
    The bath of sun is ever wan
    The pools of shadows swim and burn
    As silent sleep reclaims its turn.
    December always finds me cold
    Like the ache of bones in the ancient old
    The slate of sky holds no glint of hope.
    We huddle deep and simply cope.

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    hvyrmtl1 commented on December

    08-28-2009

    this is a great poem, but i cant help but think that there was no heat in the house or something. there have been times i couldnt afford to pay high bills in the winter so we had to sleep in one bed with a single small heater at the foot of the bed. this is what this poem reminds me of. good work.
    Reply to Comment

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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