Saturday, October 27, 2012

Purified Cold

The sharp rustling of dry brown leaves
Scratches against my mind--
Distracting me.
Then quickly gaining my full attention,
I notice
The cool breeze flowing through the window
Silkily running across my skin,
Like chilled satin.
The subtle creaking of thousands of branches
Bending and flexing with the winds
Add an eerie harmony to the leaves'
Percussive chorus.

The cold purifies.
And deeply I inhale
Hoping that somehow this immaculate gale
Could penetrate my soul
My mind
My thoughts
And wash away all that festers deep within.
All the memories stashed away
Threatening to spill into my now.

I am quiet most nights
Rarely a word escapes my lips
Nor a glance my eyes do take.
Is my nights' task.
Beating down my rogue vices is
My nocturnal need.
But the distraction of tonight's natural rustic rhythm
Has been most inspiring
And revealing.


  1. stay quiet is an advantage,

    your poem paint a vivid imagery.

    1. Funny, I'm often quiet when I should communicate, and speak when it would be best to stay quiet. Thanks for visiting and sharing your encouraging words.


  2. your words speak aloud,

    powerful piece of poetry.

  3. mindful piece.

    it is hard to position yourself, but you did well.

  4. Replies
    1. Thanks helen! I'm most honest in my writing.


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