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Flak
25-11-04, 08:40 AM
snow

A blanket of it, pure and white
Covering the world I knew
Smothering everything
I weep as I gaze at the window
A pane clouded in frost
I'm on one side of it
Warmth and you are on the other.

I call out, but my voice
Is muffled by the white god-cotton
The cold fluff that falls from the heavens
The stuff in whose frozen bowels
We'd once frolicked together
Not a care for the world in our minds
Our smiles illuminating the dark world.

But now that light has been caught
And bottled up inside
I'm on one side, looking in
But it escapes my gaze
It hides, dances away from the pane
Is it scared of the cold, seeking its own warmth,
Or is it scared of me?

Please, bring it back, wrap it 'round me
Around my frozen throat
Cover my cold body with it
Heat me up, stop my shaking
Before the cold catches me in death
Keep it from me, you who I once knew
I knew you so long ago...

But that memory is a picture
Burned by the fires we kindled
The last inch consumed in green-black flame
Was that the nature of our love?
From there the blaze spread
Burned our home, singed our joint heart
And it blazed between us, a wall.

The flames stopped blazing
But retained their potency
Chill and deathly, they haunt me
Green-black imprint in my skull
Metal fires slicing the reality from me
Stabbing my mind, cutting our bond
Not a quick clean cut, sawed by a rusty saw.

So now we're here, apart
The fire between us, but so much more
The glass, the cold, death
I stand on one side of the window
Warmth and you are within
I tighten my scarf around my neck
And trudge off into the distance.

I don't look back at the light,
Not at the window, nor your face
Nor the frost that makes you seem so blue
So cold and alone, but you wanted this
I'm the cold one, I'm out alone
I walk through the wet, fresh whiteness
And my tears mix with the falling snow.

Bullroarer
25-11-04, 01:20 PM
True heart and true yearning, worthy of respect.

Flak
25-11-04, 08:40 PM
Oddly enough, this poem came out all wrong. I set out to write a happy poem, a cheerful poem. Also, one with form. Out came...a deformed sad poem. Now this may say something about my mind, but don't worry- there are days on which I don't brood over sorrow, and today is such.

Thanks for the reply.