Dead of Winter

Bleak landscape, draped in snow that thawed,
Then turned to icy beads; a sky the same,
A sickening white; a clock which lies. It doesn't
Move, and I, immobile, looking at a plate
Of uninviting food, without the will or means
To change a life which feels so cold and bleak
As what I see outside.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 24 times
Written on 2010-01-22 at 22:26

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