Memories of Love.


I can now see everything
As the trees de-robe like  strippers,
But is tells me nothing.
The birds used to sing
But now their Silence makes the dark days worse.
I can now see everything.
Each balcony is waiting for Spring
To come and lift Fall’s cold, bone-hurting curse
But it tells me nothing.
The unemployed pool boy is waiting.
The squirrels, now in slumber with hearts barely beating, having collected their stores.
I can now see everything.
Beyond the nappy brown branches in the thickening
Air, I nurse my coffee, the world melts, my thoughts disperse,
But it tells me nothing.
I am not averse to the worsening chill of the exposing
Nudity of slumbering Nature’s cyclical verse.
I can now see everything
But it tells me nothing.

Published by

The Sleepcoat League

Armchair anthropologist, sometime scribe, freelance philosopher, amateur artist, part-time poet, musical maven, alliteration aficionado.

One thought on “Memories of Love.”

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