Array ( [sid] => 184632 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => cold [time] => 2017-11-14 18:32:51 [hometext] => Winter is not a season, its an occupation.~Sinclair Lewis [bodytext] => translate the rappings
and knocks
of my soul
hurry by
its snowing
darkness hollowing
out
heart
there is an impenetrability
to absence
the long bony
finger of winter
there is a totality
to silence
it makes
bones ache
cold sheets an empty bed
cold sheets of icy pellets
the grey
can make
your eyes
tired
the clock
ticks
wind whistles
things move
slightly
and snow
angels
wait
to take them
home.
[comments] => 5 [counter] => 378 [topic] => 73 [informant] => ming [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => abstract ) Your Poetry Dot Com - cold


cold
Date: Tuesday, 14th November 2017 @ 06:32:51 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: ming
translate the rappings
and knocks
of my soul
hurry by
its snowing
darkness hollowing
out
heart
there is an impenetrability
to absence
the long bony
finger of winter
there is a totality
to silence
it makes
bones ache
cold sheets an empty bed
cold sheets of icy pellets
the grey
can make
your eyes
tired
the clock
ticks
wind whistles
things move
slightly
and snow
angels
wait
to take them
home.


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