The Cold Blues
I wake up in the morning
and everyone around me is dreaming
of good old times and future smiles.
I move around, almost floating like a Phantom
and I stand in the middle of the hallway,
and the carpet tickles my feet
and I can't help but giggle inside.
The lights are off
and the windows all open,
a gust of wind blows through
knocking things over and turning the atmosphere upside down,
and I start to shiver and my teeth start to chatter.
It's cold! I say, it is cold,
I feel all alone, in the cold
no one around to warm me up,
no hot chocolate, no warm milk,
no jacket or a hat- not even a scarf to keep my neck warm,
nothing...
It's cold and I have a headache now,
dancing to beating drums inside my head,
and I can't make the party stop up there,
in that vase place of darkness and imagination;
but I try to sing along to the whispering winds
that sound like the ghosts of dead coming back for one last kiss,
I sing along with the walling winds,
and suddenly the cold goes away and I start to warm up
to the situation at hand.
Pictures in the sitting room are on the ground, glass shattered everywhere,
and the fireplace with a dying fire still going-
till the gust of wind comes back to end its last flame.
I sit on a ran-sacked sofa,
ripped and the cushions bleeding out,
the springs jump up and poke me in the butt,
and I can hear the silent footsteps of boots clamping here and there
over in the foyer footprints of ghosts' boots that trailed along in snow
appear to me and I stop and wonder what has come of me.
The Cold comes back and straightens me in and pushes me down
and cools me off- thinking too much- stop it!
The Cold Blues gets you sometimes,
and it's unbearable to live with them.
.1.25.2014.
Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2014
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