Seasons

winter poetry

Poem

 

The day is grim,
misshapen clouds grin,
silhouettes of trees
reaching out for me.
Nothing stops the pain,
I cannot feel the rain…

It is winter,
the wind is not a friend,
that’s okay, I never had a friend,

the rain was just an illusion,
now it’s white and cold,
the sky was a latter
to the other, godly world,
now it’s gone, thousand miles away.

The trees were loving arms,
the grass was bed of silk,
now all I see are aching hands…

Oh, Time, please wash away the seasons,
or take my heart, burn it, tear it to pieces!

 

more by GEORGI DIMITROV-KARLOVSKI

photograph by Daniel Bowman

 

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