Cross the threshold of your front door
and breathe in the sharp night air
Gaze up at the star-peppered bright north sky
that has watched you, now far from those days of your youth
when you did not take for granted
between safety and warmth
and the thrill of cold breath
breathed long into darkness while mischief awaited
This sky, impassive and cold
knows us yet:
Was it you, who shrieked without words whilst your mother sang low?
Was it you, who called for the first star at dusk?
Was it you, who aching and longing for life
screamed music by beachlit fires?
It smells of night. Of earth. Of a wind blown shrill from winters other than mine
Is this what it takes, to feel alive?
Steal away from the fire, and Sunday TV
Remember that life is still wild
So I will cool my face
and breathe secret dreams into dark
for a minute
to rise like ghosts on the air
and then shut the door
go back to the fire, the warmth, and a life
#Poetrywanker. Called it.