Monday, March 25 at 8:47pm
The lingering winter chills
spill into their splintered sills;
shivering cold; the solstice
holds its gnomes against their will-
as their cheeks begin to fair,
the glaring season blooms bare
and the daring leave their tombs, there:
In the snow covered under brush
so the others know their dooms near.
They've got to stop freeze now,
the looming frost is leaving body counts
through the roof and on these frowns!
Frozen icicles fall from the holes of the
gnomes little noses with hypothermia;
Faces grow pale and their home's failed
under the hail and damaged coat tales.
Their words lisp with girth's stripped,
frozen, sitting side by side
... lying by the broken furnace.
"... something must be done!"
One stands!
With his hand balled into a blue fist,
fuming cool breaths into his spewed wits:
"Our children are scared and bled,
women baron, the air's thin and dead!
Dexterity wears next to godliness;
the frost is on the tare, and God has fled!
This is last cause, our lost step,
we've got to weed into the plot of men!"
The freezing gnomes go to sleep;
hardly a fleeting eye tries to keep-
wide awake in dreams of pride n' peace
... it's this or die in sleet.
Tuesday, March 26 at 1:23am
Stand, face side by side at man's gates;
passing smiles of glass and slate-
Waging forward, short for words;
keeping form under support of force.
This is the final forge, mile 4:
wild for some kind of warmth...
Tuesday, March 26 at 4:00pm
"... have you seen my left sock!?"
Late for the soccer game...
She paces around the house
... retracing her placement,
racing around racking her brain,
attacking the basement;
flipping baskets,
as clothing fly's by her shoulder side-
"I don't knooooow!"
-her older brother bellows,
as his dry voice grows oversized.
"Oh no! It's time to go!"
Her ride waits for the 9th day;
they've been sitting in the driveway
for 14 minutes waiting,
to pick up Courtney for the Tri-states.
The jamboree's at 5,
and 43 minutes quickly pass by-
"That's it... honey, it's done;
have a lovely time, kick butt!
I'll try and look, after I find that book I
took out last month.. ugh, GOODBYE!"
.
.
.
Between those cold bare feet
beneath the cover of stares,
we seem equal in thumb...
just the people under the stairs.
Reply With Quote
