Tags
creative, hope, Letters, Letters of Love, loss, Love, nostalgia, poems, poetry, Seasons, time, verse, winter, writing
He knew that Winter was coming,
Felt its ice-brushed roots
Wrap themselves around his thoughts
And choke the words
As they hung
Like swinging men
In his throat,
Remembered then
The invincible spring
That offered him
Letters of love
Through the mail
Which fell at his feet like kisses
Pirouetted on their toes and wove
Themselves into words
Which danced in his head
Then tumbled in passages that came
From who knew where,
The Summer when his passion
Turned thoughts like cartwheels
A windmill grinding
Gathered up things he’d never seen
And lay them like a lamb on the page
At his feet
Like a sacrifice
Of sorts,
The surety of Autumn’s voice
As it echoed through the caverns
Emptied now
Not driven by desire or need,
The comfort of the leaves
And the colours that they spread
Beneath his feet
Within his heart
As the doors behind him slowly closed,
He knew that Winter was coming.
chrisnelson61 
Haunting depiction of the contrasting seasons and the slow onset of winter – gave me chills 🙂
Oh, goody! Job done then! Delighted that this moved you, Tom. Thanks.