Modern monastic rhythms
flow through the very soil.
the slow clear chant
of a million ancient souls

It's so brumal here inside
that my breath fogs the glass
as I stare out my window
waiting for you...

but it's been so many winters
since you relinquished my reverie
benumbing my heart in fierce entropy
let me be clement without you

But it's your december
that dwells in my entity
and the potency of this passion
cannot be quelled

an icicle encrusted statue
so pristine and imperforate
leaving only to melt
and drip, drip, away...

12/02/2003

Author's Note: Trying to decide if I should enter this in the contest...or write others and decide

Posted on 12/03/2003
Copyright © 2024 J. P. Davies