A Vine In Winter
The dry stem of a lonesome vine of vivacity,
now painfully curled, rooted frozen,
entwining the desiccated verdant veins,
sways chilled in the winter wind of desolation.
The sleeping passion of exuberance,
painting a picture of comatose entity,
impresses none, finds no frame, droops down uncoiled.
Dormant emotions flicker like candle flame in freezing gale,
the crumpled vine suffers cold distress, pain unexpressed.
The original emerald lattice morphs mystically into
a mirror of veracity with ingrained sheen of actuality,
reflecting the real rendering of silhouetted latent essence,
rinsed with the suppressed hues
of distinctive spectral disposition it embodied once.
Metamorphosis creates the transient design,
an alien in its own transformed domain,
completes the contrasting paradigm
of the compulsive shape shift,
waiting for the touch of spring.
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
