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

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Thank you for your visit to this porch. I'd love to hear if or how this post/poem touched you!