Searching for Sustenance

The oak trees, with their tortured trunks,
Are bifurcated once again. The upper parts,
Those facing south, are white with snow.
The lower parts remain a soul-destroying
Gray. The river flows like liquid slate,
And deer appear at dusk, forced toward
The houses strung along the bluff. Below,
There's nothing left to eat. This is the year
That winter owns, and I, another hapless
Creature, search in vain for sustenance
Within my home, but I find none. Like
Those whose muzzles plow the snow,
I burrow through the Internet for means
Of making my escape to someplace sunny
South of here, or north, to where I know
You'll be, a source of warmth, a way
For me to sidestep this god-awful season.
If it ends, I'll go back home. Perhaps,
You'd come with me.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 179 times
Written on 2019-03-08 at 01:31

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