I flew alone in the white winter night
Cold winds and ice deep within my weary fright
In the night my mind in the darkest of dark
Death was close, close to my lonely heart
The tomb at the ready
Even falling apart
Some would say this is fine art
Or better yet Art at his finest…
Wrapped in winters black roped plaque
All I wanted was to lie down and rest
In peace and upon a widows breast
For then we could know each other
Pains shared, blood expressed
You are an angel divine
Winters mist and love sublime
Umbrellas to shield us from our earthly fears
Of natures whims and weather so ghastly grim
I turn my head, staring into the past
Your breasts of life make me gaze on back
When I was the raven
Flying noble and high
Now all I see are empty dark skies
Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016
twisted branches cast their shadows
upon dusk infested gallows
slowly bringing up some shallow
hollow eyes, so full of fear
waiting out the fall and winter
with tighter ropes in wooden splinter
slipping into nooses center
taking lives away from here
captivated by death standing
a chilly hand all demanding
crowds have gathered, screaming, chanting
chants that rise into the air
guilty lined up, all are pleading
families gathered, crying, weeping
weeping for their loved receding
into reapers silent care
* still working *
Copyright © Christopher Pitts | Year Posted 2013
The tree with its half-dead, half-alive leaves,
The erratic flights of the swallow-tail,
The coarse, but peaceful, bed of dried-up grass:
It's late winter in the cemetery.
-Pin Dew (03/05/2017)
Copyright © Pin Dew | Year Posted 2017
I do not know?
I exhale and i see my breath. Cold air enters my lung's, and fills my chest. Snow falls
down and lands on my nose. I can feel the darkness, and the night is so cold.
Up through the snow drift the thorns pierce the night, the ground hidden by snow,
the winter hides it's life. Tree's are silent as i pass by. The stars blanket the back
drop, a cold breeze will fly. As i walk over the frozen ground, I'll complete the
silence, and I'll withold my sound.
A winterly murder, how the night seem's so dead. A suicidal silence, a frozen
death bed. I find a soft spot next to a snow angels grave, remnants of a smile,
proof of the day. The paw prints of life that once searched for food, lays me back,
and set's the mood. As the moon's beam lights up my dream's, my blanket of white,
is now a light blue cream.
The ice that dangles from a tree's limbs, glistens and sparkles, then flickers and
dims. My thoughts continue as i watch the ice cry, dripping down to the ground,
followed by the relief of a sigh. As i roll my head to the right i notice the winter owl,
he gives me a wink, and presents to me a scowl. His wings then open up, and the
breeze helps his flight, as he then fades away, into the cold dark night. I roll my
head slowly to the left, enhaling a chilled poisonous breath. My eye's then grow
wide as i watch the snowflake's die.
The death of a snowflake is sinfully sweet. It's a very long journey for a children's
treat. I wonder how the night can be so gentle , when the cold is so sharp, now i
can hear the gentle sypmhony, of my snow angel's harp. I'll never complain,
because it helps me to sleep, now this deadly night air, is all mine to keep.
As i drift away, i take one more deep breath, because now the snow angels gone,
I'm the only one left. Peaceful.....painful.....soft, innocent night. As my eye's start to
close, in enters the night
Copyright © mark lupatsky | Year Posted 2011
no hands left to warm-
with shovels now in ashes-
Copyright © Richard Olson | Year Posted 2017
Frozen sky and frosted ground
In the mystique grey of departing light
They meet in the abode of those departed.
The identities dissolve in inseparable oneness
Brings together close
The living and the dead
In gripping stillness and in dense silence
In fading light and in gloomy desolateness
Of the graveyard in the wasteland reclaimed
All engraved in consumed life’s winter frame.
Defoliated trees clad in somber grief
Stand static as the shadowless sentinels
Lest those lying beneath the stones resurrect
And fly away with the northern wind.
The children of the past born under the sun
Left behind the warmth in the distant hearts
When time came to find a place in the earth.
The bouquet laced with love not yet dead
Carries the frozen flare of remembrance.
The defrosted soul may rise as mist
Wrap the life standing in despair
In cold embrace of old drops of tear.
September 16, 2017
Copyright © Subimal Sinha-Roy | Year Posted 2017
It bites, stings, and burns.
I stay as the night turns.
I can’t feel even your spirit.
So far away, I see it.
I can’t feel a bit of happiness.
I want you,
I know that I am being selfish.
Wondering how you would react,
To see me,
A new being and in tact.
You’re just a concrete block.
I can hear the bell ring for the clock.
I can’t stay,
For I don’t know what I am.
What am I?
Am I a child’s toy or a human?
It begins to rise, signaling to me.
For me to leave you be.
I say my eternal goodnight, as you begin to degrade,
And walk away to find my way in life’s parade.
Copyright © Frisk Carris | Year Posted 2017