The door to December
She hastens her breath
bringing popsicle cobwebs
that remind me of death;
and the fiddler, he plays by the tree,
Her breath an iced cold legacy.
This door to December
whistles a crepe hanging breeze
Her breath quickly killing
the branches off trees;
the fiddler sought street lamps to see,
perchancing a crowd's company.
That door to December
Solstice shuts in the end
She quickbolts both locks
locking out Her last friend;
two carolers and the fiddler stood three,
they were good! I think all would agree!
Thick door to December
drafts comprised of sorrowed fears,
and try as you might
you can't hold back your tears;
in the distance the lone fiddler plays, free
now, fiddling three-part harmony.
Comments
I don;t undertand it,It feels like a peronal poem.
Yes well written and it succeds.
incoerent.
just a list of irrelevant word.
Nicely written,
but contracitory an incompresensible.
Well, I'll tell ya, mister elf....
...the title is the name of a novel, and I used it as my title and I began writing. This winter was unexpectantly cruel as, I lost 3 female friends due to surprising circumstances, and death's untimely procurement.
Two of these women were partners romantic, and I couldn't help but wonder if, ironically.....maybe were they both "dieing" to get out of these trysts, with me? (Poor place to insert levity, I admit!); but as I wrote, I began seeing solstice's chill as some cold, entity that cared not, who was caught up, in Her wake.
Any clearer?
Thanx,
doc.