A Speck of Glacial Blues Flung.


A Speck Of Glacial Blues Flung.


Upon Decembers

white canvas stretched,
I am a speck of

glacial blues flung.


Brushed off by her

cold shouldered rendering
in the heat of her

rage tempera-mental.

Depressions mark

my path in the night,
ice-olation surrounds

me, in still life as I journey

to find loneliness once more.

My oldest friend who

will wearily greet me,
for I'm seldom good

company when grieving,
the return of what he

and I've shared.

Listless nights spent

perusing the photos,
of the moments enjoyed

by her side.

Stone cold silence

and many sad dirges,
on a round bodied

ovation strummed.

T.V. dinners, bland pulp,

left half eaten,
while he squats full of guilt,

and reminds me,
of how love once sat

wrapped in my arms,
with his empty gaze

draining my soul.

Soon enough I'll

abandon his offering
of the bitter cup

sorrow has poured,
until then we'll sit

staring together,
at the blankness

of this season alone.









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