Cold

Cold Tree

First frost is close
Iceland is near
Feelings of cold
Rejuvenation
Icicle clarity 47°
Mental baptism
Are we progressing
Just making more
Or standing still
Revolving in the same
We make new things
To feel alive
But if stuff
Is all we have
Then we have
Nightingales
That aimlessly dive
Cobwebs in our eyes
To climb the tree
To see if the top
Is as cold as the bottom
Is much more meaningful
I can see this is
A popular spot to rest
For every bird
Another coyote
Looking for breakfast
Is it cold
Where you live?
Do you think
Of things like this?
I imagine
It would be warm
If we were together

Icy

Find your restraint
Pull hard if not from tragedy
What defines a genuine like?
Manicured outsides
Betray the truth
Your idea of close
Is different from mine
We can’t be bothered
With the idiosyncratic
Tendencies for nuance
And embittered semantics
How boring to be honest
I found my chagrin icy
Greeted with poisoned apples
It would be unnecessary
To assume that the
Best intentions were
Wrapped ‘round your heart
Ascot a scarf more likely
To keep it warm from
The freezing cold emotions
Your character betrothed

Emotionless
Unlike fire resolute
The suffering takes a stance
Proclaims it’s existence
I have a voice too!!

It can be cold and calculating
Sweetly and verbally skewering
Humiliating you
Dark ages are upon us
Light is inside us
Growing yet
Keeping still

Free will has had a taste
Of the reality to come
What illness breaks
Cannot be undone

As often soldiers do
We will too
Find our way
Through the chill
Breathing to fulfill
A greater home

Waking up on the other side
A promise to stay alive
Is in many of our hearts

Some are disillusioned
To absorb the truth that is
Extinguishing

Let it be said
That before we’re all dead
We have hope
We can cope
With the cold
The bleak and icy
Condemnation that bitterness
Slides around in
Holds less than half
Maybe a third

One for you
One for me
One for destined eternity

We cannot escape the glacial tide
We can remain heart open wide
The more we burn
The more we learn
But what is to be gathered
From suffering?
What is to be fathered
In a wintry spill
Of emotionless meaningless
Hurtful grief?

I find our relief
In the Mother
That has always been
In the mortal free word
Before the beginning of time

Carry us through
The sleeting cold
Armor conceived
To behold
Our destiny