Author Information
Winter Of Our Love
Folder:
Teardrop of Coloured Soul
So it's wintertime and all the snow
lies cold on the ground. The temperature
is below zero and yet it is not as cold
as the words we throw at one another.
The kids are playing outside and just
maybe they're afraid to come inside.
Mommy and Daddy are playing games
of being too polite to each other.
And the neighbours light a fire
in the hopes that the flames will
melt the ice that has grown up
between us. But as quickly as the
ice starts to melt we dash cold water
into the burning mess. Somehow we
live through the days pretending that the
words we say are representative of
the bonds we break around us. It seems
very important that each of us retains
some sense of balance. But the problem
lies in what we define as reality. The words
we use in careful tones are words so cold
they slice the tendons of our vows. And
I cannot help but wonder what picture
we will be drawing some years from now.
One can only imagine that as the spring
approaches still we will be locked in
the winter of our love. For seasons may
come and go, as they always do, but
we in our icy rooms can only stay
and face the snowstorm of our demise.
It's a magic moment in eternity and
I whisper words of comfort to my mind.
Let the snow continue to fall and maybe
in the cold we can freeze ourselves into
icicles of despair. Than let the flames
begin again and let us hope they melt
enough despair away to let the sunshine
come back in.
lies cold on the ground. The temperature
is below zero and yet it is not as cold
as the words we throw at one another.
The kids are playing outside and just
maybe they're afraid to come inside.
Mommy and Daddy are playing games
of being too polite to each other.
And the neighbours light a fire
in the hopes that the flames will
melt the ice that has grown up
between us. But as quickly as the
ice starts to melt we dash cold water
into the burning mess. Somehow we
live through the days pretending that the
words we say are representative of
the bonds we break around us. It seems
very important that each of us retains
some sense of balance. But the problem
lies in what we define as reality. The words
we use in careful tones are words so cold
they slice the tendons of our vows. And
I cannot help but wonder what picture
we will be drawing some years from now.
One can only imagine that as the spring
approaches still we will be locked in
the winter of our love. For seasons may
come and go, as they always do, but
we in our icy rooms can only stay
and face the snowstorm of our demise.
It's a magic moment in eternity and
I whisper words of comfort to my mind.
Let the snow continue to fall and maybe
in the cold we can freeze ourselves into
icicles of despair. Than let the flames
begin again and let us hope they melt
enough despair away to let the sunshine
come back in.
winter of our love
sometimes it takes too long to melt the freeze, . Sometimes too much water has passed under the bridge, and flooded our thoughts and mind.
sometimes it is just impossible...the flame burns out. great poem....heather