It's been cold, so I haven't opened
The dining room curtains.  I simply
Succumb to the gloom.  The yard,
The fields in the valley below,
And the sky all are white, like
A page without writing, a present
Into which no future can come.
I don't read the news.  It's too darkly
Depressing.  I never go out.  There
Is nowhere to go.  I wait in this
Place which now seems like
A prison, desperately longing
For spring.

Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2023-01-24 at 23:44

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Griffonner The PoetBay support member heart!
Thoughts that are somewhat reflected here as well: So cold, icy roads, snow, and featureless light grey skies. I do go out, but only to feed the birds. I empathise with the message in your poem, Lawrence.