Saturday, January 28, 2006

Winterborn

I am Winterborn, boreal, cheerless son...
the melancholic bard giving birth to oblivion.
I am freezing rain that bites raw skin...
slushing blood with stinging wind.
I am the dulling stupor entering your mind...
the driving blizzard leaving you blind.
I am heavy sky, hoary and bleak...
days void of sun and draining you weak.
I am barren trees and frozen waste land...
the jagged ground that rips the hand.
I am hardened lakes and ice that groans...
the wolves of winter that ravenously moan.
I am frost ringed moon and crystallized breath...
cracked bleeding lips and comfort's quick death.
I am the arrival of dread and the resident forlorn...
the old man's heir... I am Winterborn.

5 comments:

KGT said...

poem dated 2/20/93

paisley said...

wow.. that is full of biting imagery... very well worded... an excellent showcase of your creative talent.. love this!!!!

lissa said...

like pieces of snow flakes that settles in the same spot, guess that's what winter feels like sometimes, only it never stays the same way

ms.e said...

nice treasure to pull out! looks like you were born a poet. i agree that the imagery captures the subject well...winter's raw side in pristine glory

RachelW said...

This is very good, all of it, very elemental... as well as the fragment you posted recently. Thank you!