The closer my soul gets
The farther it is thrown.
And I feel the burning regret
Scalding the buttered scones.
Scalding the buttered scones;
Scalding my broken bones.
The brighter the glow of the candle
The dimmer its shadow upon
The balls that slowly dangle-
Little beacons in the storm.
Little beacons in the storm;
Deemed to be dispelled by the dawn.
Memories millenial mashed
Into puddings and baked crisps;
Soft snowflakes slowly slant
Into a room of painted bliss.
A room of painted bliss;
Of endless shopping lists.
And bittersweet days dance in my eyes
To unheard, unfelt carols
Soothing stories sweetly sung
Over enormous wine barrels.
Over enormous pork barrels;
Those lovely, lovely carols.
And a stray waif of a tear pulls and falls
And gets caught in the burrs of my sweater
Of trees and troubles and Santa Claus
Of memories, love and letters;
Of memories, love and letters;
Christmas couldn't be better.
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Salt And Ink
Poetry(#1 in Poetry 14th November 2015- 14th December 2015) (5th in What's Hot- Poetry, 20th January 2016) Cover picture- grunge (WeHeartIt) "Prepared thus to close, he raised his knife, Death came later; he was stabbed by life." When my ballpoint buckles...
