Wednesday, January 28, 2009



















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:

RachelW said...

What glorious imagery.

S.L. Corsua said...

I followed the link. The whole poem is jaw-dropping, reads like the opening to a real epic. The confidence of the persona can leave one weak-kneed (grin), has a Beowulf feel. Cheers.

K.Lawson Gilbert said...

Fantastic work.

KGT (aka Cagey) said...

Rachel- Thank you. I am sure you know of that which I speak, given your geography!

S.L.- Weak-kneed? Shall I lend you my arm? Thanks as always Soulless. (Oh, why did we stop calling you Soulless?)

K. LawG- I am so glad to have you as a reader. Many thanks for the kind words.

S.L. Corsua said...

I think it was to commemorate the third anniversary of my poetry blog. It was either that, i.e. a change of pen name (plus posting a pic of half my face on my profile page, haha), or totally redo the look of the site (I like to do something major to the blog whenever its birthday comes along, though unannounced). ;)