Icy silence shouldered in the cold
bleak of winter mourning
solitary and confined by my own
inability to overcome fear
To reach out despite past knowledge
of that reaching meaning pain
always pain
Sometimes my reaching is inartful
too rough
and I injure the other
But more often it seems
I am swatted away violently
or held and burned
by the grip
or worse
trusting in a stair that isn't there
I fall flat on my face
and bruise nose and dignity
on the cold, unyielding ground
No comments:
Post a Comment