Cold.

Go, now.

 

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

the contrast

between safety and warmth

and the thrill of cold breath

breathed long into darkness while mischief awaited

(or not)

 

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

and unknowable.

(mostly)

 

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

much lived.

 

 


 

 

#Poetrywanker. Called it.

If you like this, have a look at some of my other poems, follow me on facebook, twitter, instagram or maybe one day literally in real life (don’t do this) for notifications of new stuff.

 

 

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