Writer's Winter
Periwinkle winter wind
an icicle arena
a mustered bold intensive soul
inside this house I linger.
To venture past my sunken gate
To melt the fallen snow
would endanger all that's candle lit
and snag the shadow's flow.
I'm married to this musty page,
these words in sepia leak
while the morning blows continuous
the writer's stain takes seed.
And if you see me weeping
and if you see me sigh
close the shutters, trap the darkness,
winter winds are blowing nigh.
Copyright © Tatyana Carney | Year Posted 2005
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