by David Neubauer
The cold, slowly slipping between bones,
insinuating itself into the deepest crevices,
ice, spread on the ground, in the arteries,
solid, unfeeling, heavy inside.
The wind, a constant blowing snowstorm,
a deadly mix of exhiliration and numbness,
an apathetic, objecitve destroyer of the
heat and peace we find inside.
But some, standing, cloak astride the wind,
find comfort in the cold, their eyes burning,
trying desperately to pinpoint the reason,
the meaning of their existance in the cold.
Who knows if they ever will find it,
or if they will just freeze.
Author's Note: Maybe it's ok? Who knows... will look at it again with more perspective later....
Posted on 11/29/2004
Copyright © 2020 David Neubauer
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Anne Engelen on 12/01/04 at 06:04 PM|
oh I like what this did to me. It put me an a train of thoughts on a journey with unknown destination. Still enjoying the ride, not able to pinpoint the feeling it gives me yet.