White-out (Poetry)
02nd January 2012
It’s snowing hard inside my head every time I close my eyes
and each flake falls faster, faster in its race to reach the ground —
flakes as big as saucers spinning — crystals grown to giant-size —
scraps of thought that tumble crazy in a storm that makes no sound.
Like a blizzard sweeps the mountain blotting everything from view
I am drowning in a dreamworld with no way to take control —
there’s a rumble in the distance and a tremble running through
and my heart sighs under snowdrifts as depression chills my soul.
Months of white-out without pity — this cold curse has held its spell
my inner landscape is a stranger — I no longer think as me —
all my words are piled haphazard — frozen awkward where they fell
I wrote icebergs of old poems but they’ve drifted out to sea.
and each flake falls faster, faster in its race to reach the ground —
flakes as big as saucers spinning — crystals grown to giant-size —
scraps of thought that tumble crazy in a storm that makes no sound.
Like a blizzard sweeps the mountain blotting everything from view
I am drowning in a dreamworld with no way to take control —
there’s a rumble in the distance and a tremble running through
and my heart sighs under snowdrifts as depression chills my soul.
Months of white-out without pity — this cold curse has held its spell
my inner landscape is a stranger — I no longer think as me —
all my words are piled haphazard — frozen awkward where they fell
I wrote icebergs of old poems but they’ve drifted out to sea.