~¤~
Frigid sunshine pierces air in the cloudless skies,
Once a pretty scene to behold,
Is now a sardonic punishment.
Just like having water in your mouth,
But not being able to swallow it down
Your dessicated throat.
Like living in the garden of eden
Where all fruits are forbidden.
Where smile is the carriage of tears
Drawn by the horses of transient time.
Like being able to read a hundred languages
But unable to speak or write even one.
To have sound in your throat,
But no voice.
To have to write with frozen tears
On the scroll in your head, all their mistakes
You forgave and neglected,
Yet had to pay a decapitation for, when made by you.
Oh its the night, with those stars
Burning like torches of resilient optimism.
Yes, the daylight was dark and cold,
The chilly moonlit gusts through my hair, my only solace.
Now, I rise from the bed of an unmade grave,
Covered in some unexpected vines,
The only ones who held me, who got me through.
I thank them, thinking perhaps the daylight will be warmer too.
~¤~
Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. Please VOTE and COMMENT!!!!
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Cottage Chronicles
PoesíaLife's chronicles from love, sorrow, anger, guilt, shame, happiness buried in a poetic cipher. Would you like some words and wine, on wooden floorboards? ©️ Feronia Grey
