Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Solitude (Press)

The wind rustling the limbs on the
bent, leafless trees
pushes the swing I sit on gently
as my feet trail lightly through
the loose, powdery snow.

It's a cold wind,
forcing me to unclamp my frozen hands from
the slightly rusted metal chains
and wrap them tightly around myself,
keeping the biting wind from sneaking
into my jacket through the broken zipper.

I hear flocks of geese calling overhead as they fly,
traveling northeast towards the snow-covered
grassy fields stuck haphazardly between
the housing developments spreading rapidly
like some contagious, yet fatal, disease.

The swing next to me rocks emptily
as the wind continues to blow-
driving tiny, pale flakes off of neighboring
rooftops and causing the old, worn out
wooden playground equipment to creak loudly,
drowning out the calls of the geese.

My fingers, red and numb from the
icy metal have begun to thaw inside
my pockets, occasionally braving the
wind to brush stray brown hairs
away from my face.

The wind begins to blow even more fiercely,
causing the swings to rattle sharply
as I jump off into the soft, white powder.
It crunches under my feet as I walk hurridly
home, trying to escape the increasingly frigid air.


Grumpy as Always said...

I really like it. It explains how cold and lonely we can all get at times. Keep up the good work.

esperanza said...

Great imagery! It paints a perfect picture of your experience.

Anonymous said...

I love the way you wrote this!! Your an amazing poet and you have a great talent for writting. Paints pictures and shows not tells. I love it so far! keep up the good work!

Terra said...


RJ Barron said...
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RJ Barron said...
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