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Friday, May 23, 2008

Winter Solace

Dear Mike, the trees are lost in the gray
that surrounds them today.
Barren branches strain upward with a cry
to a frozen and lifeless sky
praying for a brighter day.

Cypress roots are stuck in a muddy bog below,
don't know which way to go.
Their knees rise up in search of solace
uncertain of their purpose
in this lonely winter cold.

This season of solitude no lover can defeat,
you've left me incomplete.
I wander through the trees aimlessly
getting bored shamelessly
with every man I meet.

Spanish moss desperately clings to it's due,
like I cling to you.
But your ashes have grown cold
with nothing left to hold,
I need someone to talk to.

Beneath the reflections lie decaying leaves
whose color the bog bereaves.
I'm stuck in a world of wintery dead
a shivering stillness within my head;
cries you once consoled, aren't percieved.

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