PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I can’t remember the weather.

The harshness of the frost,
the noise of the rain,
the cold touch of the door handle
and the pool of water beneath my boots

The changing of the seasons blur,
the crunch from the fallen leafs quiet,
wetness, and lack of friction
let the panic of balance slide over them.

The fleeting weather leaves me coiled in the corner.

The damp and sodden tree trunk
that stuck my shirt to my resting back
is bone dry and not what it was.

I grow old and forget

the description of the blooming butterflies,

the green tickled ears
and the way it felt to lay.

Is it that it’s different?
The old nags were right.

Last year, the snow was warmer
and the angels were full,

Each snowflake that has ever fallen
has never fallen in the same way before,

Or rested in the same way,
or melted in the same way.

I can’t describe the evolving weather
but I remember the way it made me feel.