Dublin Core
Title
Silver Mornings
Description
As months fade to winter, the sky is drained of color. The temperature drops and the rain pours. Everything is gray, wet, and sits like cool, bitter tea. This poem captures the feeling of betrayal that sometimes comes with the oncoming winter’s dreary mornings.
Creator
Keane, Jordan
Date
2015-11
Format
doc, 27.5 KB
Type
Poem
Text Item Type Metadata
Text
Silver is the winter wind that cuts icy throats,<br />
the cunning lie crafted at the trickster’s tongue,<br />
sworn to come with a whisper in my ear.<br />
It stretches like the ice that ghosts along my windows<br />
beneath the evening’s veil, while fissures crack glass<br />
at the warmth of my fingertips. I look<br />
at my reflection confined in glass.<br />
Silver is the seduction of eternity’s rhythm,<br />
counted by the rain’s endless patter<br />
to draw in my focus. Unlatch the window.<br />
In marble bones, I lean on the sill, tasting<br />
the cool salt that bites the insides of my cheeks<br />
as I breathe ice. As raindrops rush<br />
in, chasing goosebumps up my skin,<br />
I resign to winter’s wait.