The world ends in a whisper, the first hints of frost.
Sorrow lays like blankets of snow
muting everything except one piercing cry.
Everyone remembers that September was not so long ago,
but no one can recall
the thrill of their skin brushed by the autumn wind or
what coffee felt like
burning their tongue first thing in the morning as they watched
the earth flip on the lights.
They cannot recall the feelings, but they know it happened;
the way
we no longer remember
the heart-racing anticipation of being knee-high and leaping into a pile
of leaves,
but we have the memories and snapshots to prove
that once we joined the Wild Things where they were.
Winter, when it comes,
softly,
ever so softly,
mutes the world;
nothing else exists until it releases its grip.
The world around us
goes soft and still.
It mutes the truth,
and the harsh backdrop.
We do not go quietly, because nothing around us
is gentle or soft.
YOU ARE READING
Dancing with Ghosts
PoetryA collection of poems coping with the juxtaposition of grief and beauty, pain and nostalgia, heart ache and celebrations. From breakups to losing a child, a parent, a friend, a sibling, I hope this little collection of poems helps someone out there...
