Snow-skinned Ground

Anyone can see
what lay upon the ground.
The rocks and the weeds
and the dirt to which they're bound.

To life it clings
the body full of blood.
The soul, it knows
a machine made of mud.

This hope a home
knows not but a lone.
But this do know
it knows it hopes.

It grows and knows
the cold and snows.
the wolves and crows,
the frozen below.

If song it sang and gave away
tomorrow there for another day,
Would enough it pay,
my death, 'til I lay.

What I want and what I have
do not have the balance I seek.
The shadow-soul is spark and flame,
and its voice is there to speak.

My memories are all fangs and claws,
reminding me of failings and flaws.
A chain I forged and a ribbon I made,
to blind me of all these I saw.

Enough to know the beast be bound
buried deep in the snow-skinned ground.
And if I could, would you help me see,
my tracks by yours, on the snowed over ground.





Poetry by Bonehead83
Read 188 times
Written on 2022-05-18 at 03:25

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
This has the 'feel' of a nineteenth century pen to me. There's a rare skill required to achieve that. Thanks for sharing.
2022-05-18