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Literature Text
It’s 3:05 a.m.
and I am thinking I just
made you up to hurt myself.
Remember last winter:
they blamed the snow in our hands
for our blue flesh,
ocean snow settled
where they used to swim.
It’s 10:33 in the morning
and I am winter.
I am ice;
snow and sunrise;
chilly mornings from another time.
Tales of my winter heart
beckon like a big, flashing,
neon sign that says steal compass,
sail north,
and disappear.
It’s 4:15 p.m.
The snowfall is so silent.
I know a place where
even the crickets can’t be heard,
winter air choking
every
silence.
It was a cold,
winter morning when you left:
when we realized it was a different kind of cold
caused by 3mm of distance
between our fingertips.
This is about forgetting your silence
and my vague memories.
The weatherman didn’t fail me –
when love grows cold,
ice shards crystalize on the black
lake surrounding my heart.
and I am thinking I just
made you up to hurt myself.
Remember last winter:
they blamed the snow in our hands
for our blue flesh,
ocean snow settled
where they used to swim.
It’s 10:33 in the morning
and I am winter.
I am ice;
snow and sunrise;
chilly mornings from another time.
Tales of my winter heart
beckon like a big, flashing,
neon sign that says steal compass,
sail north,
and disappear.
It’s 4:15 p.m.
The snowfall is so silent.
I know a place where
even the crickets can’t be heard,
winter air choking
every
silence.
It was a cold,
winter morning when you left:
when we realized it was a different kind of cold
caused by 3mm of distance
between our fingertips.
This is about forgetting your silence
and my vague memories.
The weatherman didn’t fail me –
when love grows cold,
ice shards crystalize on the black
lake surrounding my heart.
Literature
Winter Nights
the dawn dies quietly--
fall has lost another child,
the trees mourn and
night passes
and winter quakes,
the chill is in my bones. my
fingers shake. the fire in my
lungs burns me through
I dream of you,
every night when
I close my eyes it's
like falling into
memories, I always
wake up screaming
I'm sinking lower than all
good intentions and human
discretions because I am
the toxic underbelly,
underwhelmingly docile
until provoked (poked up
the side to see if I'm alive)
for twelve months I lived
underneath the end of the world,
counting up prophecies. it feels
empty on th
Literature
you smelled like snow
my heart is a thing i wrote out
on the back of your hand, one night,
in ballpoint pen,
while you were sleeping soundly,
milky white and deep blue and wrapped in my love;
in the dark,
i closed my eyes and breathed your being's poetry,
filled with nirvana.
Literature
softened
the sky whispers,
ribbons of crystalline quiet,
same shade as the angel dust
you shivered every time we were
alone.
in the darkness, we were
sorry birds searching for
open dawns. you, the
swan, me, the
raven,
black as night and
just as hopeful.
and there were poems
written in your skin, universes
blooming in your hands; your eyes
were a December sunrise saving me
from any sleep.
I’ve decided that
people are a composition of
all their greatest memories—and you,
you were always the most
beautiful piece of
me.
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Not nearly as good as my last attempt, but not half bad either. I think autumn just has better imagery. Of course, I could be biased by my love for the season. I nearly left it at the first stanza alone because it was close to a haiku, but I wanted to do something with a progression of time.
I know I said I'd never do such a long piece again, but apparently I lied. Another title poem. I didn't plan on a winter theme, it just kinda happened. Naturally, the next course of action is to round out the seasons.
It’s 3:05
I am
thinking
I just made you up to hurt myself
remember last winter
they blame the snow
in our hands
blue flesh
ocean snow
Settled
where they used to swim
10:33 in the morning
I am winter
I am ice
Snow and sunrise
chilly mornings
from another time
tales of my winter heart
beckon
a big, flashing, neon sign that says
steal compass, sail north, disappear
4:15 pm
the snowfall is so silent
I know a place
where even the crickets can’t be heard
winter air
choking
every silence
It was a cold, winter morning
when you left
when we realized it was a different kind of cold
caused
3mm distance
between our fingertips
This is about forgetting
your silence and my vague memories
the weatherman didn’t fail me
when love grows cold
ice shards
crystalize
black lake
surrounding
my heart
#TheTitlePage
I know I said I'd never do such a long piece again, but apparently I lied. Another title poem. I didn't plan on a winter theme, it just kinda happened. Naturally, the next course of action is to round out the seasons.
It’s 3:05
I am
thinking
I just made you up to hurt myself
remember last winter
they blame the snow
in our hands
blue flesh
ocean snow
Settled
where they used to swim
10:33 in the morning
I am winter
I am ice
Snow and sunrise
chilly mornings
from another time
tales of my winter heart
beckon
a big, flashing, neon sign that says
steal compass, sail north, disappear
4:15 pm
the snowfall is so silent
I know a place
where even the crickets can’t be heard
winter air
choking
every silence
It was a cold, winter morning
when you left
when we realized it was a different kind of cold
caused
3mm distance
between our fingertips
This is about forgetting
your silence and my vague memories
the weatherman didn’t fail me
when love grows cold
ice shards
crystalize
black lake
surrounding
my heart
#TheTitlePage
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Comments24
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I am a huge winter fan and this depicts it very well 