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January 13, 2013
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winter came to my door while I lounged
on the leather couch. I opened up
strongly to his pretty complexion
and cocoon of down lining; his white
teeth didn't chatter and no flush had
covered up the freckles on his cheeks.

I had been taking in boys like him
for weeks. he said he heard about it,
the good news I had now in the back
of the manger, and requested rest
in a spare bed. his eyes were still gold
like dew on a late harvest, sweet fields
that his eyes too looked tired from reaping.

that fortune,
growing old,
is beauty.

my own place, my own food, i thank past
loves and passions. winter plays his finger
on his lip and compliments my art
I've painted onto the wall, frescos
of Mnemosyne's sons glorified
anonymous to winter's conscience,
or at least his hymnal whispering,
which adorns each word he lofts to me
and my ears cozy from easy sleep.

the trees then glinted with frozen limbs
and clicked a procession to my hand
that dusted snow off winter's shoulder
and led him in, where the warm was loud
crackle of hickory in the hearth.
I am filling with a melody,
winter punctuated with a stamp
of his boots melting slush on my floor.

Sing on, then, let it ring, for your voice
would be the only thing I would like
to wake me, I stop to sip fresh juice
of an eradiated orange.

sadness will not let loose the tight grip
it has on my song.  sadness even
stands between us now, making distance.


winter shifts around the room of warmth
and flutters sighs on my wealth of time spent
at masquerades in  heady summers.

my luck and wealth makes me no stronger
and your sadness does not have to stay
at your neck with fate's rusted scissors,
thus I address the hostage tension
pressed between us, a poison for sadness
and its exquisitely unseen lips
at tremble with throbbing excitement.

I am the way that I am, the way
that I am no different from those
who work to end me in the fiery
bursts of such whimsical ambition.


then I was alone, as I had been
and winter had been alone as well.

I search the waking world I'm inside
for anything I've earned worth losing
the blade of the sadness of my youth.
winter's refrain

I am filling with a melody,

sadness will not let loose the tight grip
it has on my song. sadness even
stands between us now, making distance.

I am the way that I am, the way
that I am no different from those
who work to end me in the fiery
bursts of such whimsical ambition.



hope to make vergil proud
Add a Comment:
 
:iconarchelyxs:
Tears, everywhere. This.
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:iconclaytonwoolery:
claytonwoolery Jun 11, 2013  Student General Artist
i should get working on the other echo logs...
Reply
:iconlearningtobefree:
learningtobefree Jan 16, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
i like your style - it's so elegant and different

maybe work on word choice, word placement, and fluidity
i found that i often had to re-read every other line because
the words you use are so choppy and difficult to flow
Reply
:iconclaytonwoolery:
claytonwoolery Jun 11, 2013  Student General Artist
i'm sorry.
Reply
:iconlearningtobefree:
learningtobefree Jun 12, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
don't be, just try to remedy it
Reply
:iconclaytonwoolery:
claytonwoolery Jun 12, 2013  Student General Artist
lots of things to fix, lots of things to rearrange.
Reply
:icongoose-fat:
I don't want to like it, but I still do.
Reply
:iconclaytonwoolery:
claytonwoolery Jan 15, 2013  Student General Artist
Then that's good. C:
Reply
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