PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Through all the long winter, bitter and cold, 
in the darkness of the snow, I wept. 

Tears of cold ice falling and stalling 
the inevitable conclusion. A whisper 

insists upon an answer, but I have 
none to give. A voice demands an opinion 

but my opinion is that I am empty. Through 
all the long winter, bitter and cold, I 

watched you depart from me. I am aware 
of the patterns of your thoughts and so 

I read a book and pretended you were 
not in the room. The children played 

unaware that their parents were fallen 
symbols of despair. The dog ran in a 

circle and we watched, aware that the 
circle was the pattern of our life. I don't 

want to hear your words and yet I have 
heard them in my heart. Going out 

every night is your manner of stressing 
the state of our telephone messages. The 

phone rings and in answering I have 
developed a phobia for the sound of 

bells and conclusions. I open again 
my book and pretend that the colour of 

our life is vibrant and bold.Someone 
is knocking on the door and I suspect it 

is the police coming to arrest our 
emotions. In jail we can create our 

own freedom. In prison we can lock 
our doors and open them no more. We 

can look like strangers even though 
we share the same last name.