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Monday, January 20, 2014

alone in the cold

I was going to write about the wintry white,
the sage who selects and filters the snow flakes
that fall on earth only keeping those that
don’t look alike and to sing about the single
foot tracks left behind for someone to find

then I came upon the words of a poet
who wrote of fishing in the cold Canadian
ice and her grand pup learning to tough
the frigid wind and to howl.  Her incantations
speak of loving life along side trees and oceans,
walking and leaving tracks with snow angels,
for  life’s too short to complain of the cold

I listen to the tickling of piano keys and
the soft voice of Sara Bareilles’ Gravity.  
speaks of a heart once again alone
as it leans against cold sharp rocks
on a lonely beach till the stars
no longer hang onto a darken night
when replaced by the fire of day light

not today, will I write about the wintry day
and the tracks I’ve left behind to be found.
with a heart feeling the trickle of tears shed
from loneliness, braving the cold, I sit
in this dark candle lit room with pen in hand
now realizing I am not alone