PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The snow was deep.

Much deeper than even I anticipated,

it was taking me longer to

trudge back to the cabin

than I thought,

but I was nearly there.



Scrawny wolves were

howling my name back

in the bare woods

as snowflakes started

swirling, blotting out

this lands ghostly form,

blurring the terrain.



This writers haven could be

deadly, I had known storms

to rage for weeks and weeks.

But I liked it here.

Here,

I had no name,

no meaning.

Just me,

no ballplayers,

no deadlines.

Just clear air.

Deliberate and slow

like my heartbeat.



The publishers would have to wait,

for the road was blocked.

Like my mind.