Saturday, August 27, 2016

I know it's summer, but that puts me in the mood for a winter poem I wrote some years back.

by James Prothero

Snow falls in lines of silence
Robbing the air of sound
Padding on the earth around
The crunch of cold steps

The faces passing all have
The faraway look of contemplation
In their sudden meditation
The expressionless faces of yesterday are now grave

I study them in passing
There's the tragic man
Ice-beard chagrined
And snow clouded eyebrows massing

The woman of before who always turns away
Her eyes clear and deep/ The blood on her cold cheek
She looks into my eyes this day

As people turn and flee to their homes from the silence
Their souls venture onto their faces
Then leave, leaving the traces
Of the heart's hidden presence.

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