Discomfort Distracts from Despair

The wind blew hard across the lake,
Its opaque water heaving. No one
Else who'd come there chose to
Stay. The branches of the trees
Were pinned. The sand from on
The beach would be picked up
Sometimes to strike my face.
I didn't care. I don't care now
From in my house, which seems
A crypt. Each silent day goes on
So long; in warmth and comfort,
Longer still. The storm out at
The lake forced me to fight
Simply to stay in place, and
Piercing cold and fighting
Seemed to make the hours
Pass more quickly than they
Do in here, inside this crypt.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 42 times
Written on 2015-11-05 at 22:24

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