Thursday, May 6, 2010

Cold



The hour creeps
Like ivy o’er the garden wall
The flower sleeps
I leave the light on in the hall
For pitch black
Amplifies the tick of the clock
And I lack
The resistance to turn the lock
To keep
The cold from creeping in
It seeps
Beneath my summer skin
To remind me
A lock can never bar
The door
To where a thousand memories are
And more
As they drift like phantom mist
Across my sea
With sweet and tortured kiss
They cover me

All Rights Reserved
Janet Martin

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you always for your visit and your thoughts.