Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Exasperation

It's winter, but the streets are singing.
Vision is burning
My mind is ringing

It's winter, but lights are flying.
Nerves are fraying
My patience is trying

It's winter, but life is feeding.
fingers turn pages
memories are stampeding

Looking up through the ice.
Running through empty streets.
Piercing the stillness.
Scrambled.

4 Comments:

Blogger ... said...

**silvermOOn** - I jotted this down during a sleepless night - thinking about big decisions and change on the horizon. We haven't been hit hard by winter in Boston...yet. I take it winters are somewhat mild in the Emerald City?

10:22 PM  
Blogger Lorena said...

you've definitely captured the title so well. i like especially:
" but life is feeding.
fingers turn pages
memories are stampeding"

great photograph as well.

12:34 AM  
Blogger Russell CJ Duffy said...

a lovely circus ride of a poem. we don't get winters like this over here. wish we did.

8:26 AM  
Blogger ... said...

lorena: Thank you. I like the photograph as well. I don't think I graced it with words as well as I should have, but it had it's place in time.

cocaine jesus - That's funny. I thought you did. Get winters like that, that is. I know they don't in Ireland, but never been to England. That is your place of residence, right?

3:13 PM  

Post a Comment

<< Home