C O L D

FLUNG against the drab ashen phonon sky WEIGHTED with the ghostly iron clad jaws of bitter winter's grip BITING the feather-flared Doves gravid with FATIGUE in the ill-laden onerous air The rough coated dog with ice-tipped ears COLLAPSED in a ravine of surrender to the corridor of street gutters SEEKING shelter from the toilsome icy cold, he WALLOWS as a fugitive of neglect of his chosen demise In this empire city a sovereign shrine to humankind VESPERS of frozen conflict RISE UP from its bowels like sweat LEECHING from otherworldly gargoyles stone watchmen SEALED with mortar high atop the spires that define FORTUNE at its utmost cost Beneath these voiceless STEEPLES of holy crosses PLAGUED with frozen muted light DRIFTING through histories STRIFE for equality now a mere picture of its FAILURE Heavily cloaked faceless people TRUDGED like blind phantom transients SLOWLY moving forward through half-stacked drifts of dirty snow as they VEERED further away from discontent steadfast in the apathy The grimy conspicUous yellow taxi BEDRAGGLED on its mucky, viscous boulevard STRAINED and bellowed as a labored oxen TRANSPORTING the few to a suitable destination while DESPERATE surreal sirens from a distant byway were BLARING like a young animal caught in a trap ECHOED and purged from the back alley resort of homeless, despondent souls HIDING from the winter LAYING like pale-blue corpses NUMBING their pain with cheap wine INTERRED in their obscure tombs of battered garbage bins SHELTERING their helplessness in this SQUALOR of ignorance and sadness As i stood in the moment DISPLACED in this cold and wounded reality my icebound paralytic soul SHUDDERED with hurt WAITING for the sun Rewrite from "A Cold Day" 6-14-20 Brian's select H, any form, any theme sponsored by Brian Strand