A Winter Story

Watch how the winter grows on me
how it digs bitter crevices on my wrinkled face
biting the windows with its frost
while the innocent snow flakes, fluffy and white
gently wash my weary eyes
Where do you hide, my writer…
Is any muse around?
Freezing in some dark corner
watching the icicle weep
No doubt
I have a whole season to experience
melting
I have a split second to crush the ice
between me and my reflection

2 thoughts on “A Winter Story

  1. Louis Kasatkin

    Claustrophobic and atmospheric this poem achieves the seemingly impossible task of elevating the author’s customary angst and consternation to even more unimaginable pinnacles of ennui.

    Reply
  2. Iulia

    Thank you so much, Louis Kasatkin!!! Indeed, I have the skill to make the evil darker than he actualky is…. 🙂

    Reply

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