Cold

Poem

Cold

I half awake in heavy black.

Cold black that scratches

at my face.

The stretch of time shades

into sombre grey.

Cupboards standing in

the friendship of the day

form edgeless blocks

of darker shades and stare

at me through the gloom.

 

Grey begins to defeat the dark,

ever lighter shades, but

the cold does not relent.

I bed deeper into my nest

of body warmth.

Why so cold?

The time arrives when light

dictates the day’s rebirth.

Curtains drawn and the world stares back,

motionless, without colour.

 

A pale grey silence.

No humanity, no sparrow calls,

not a spear of sunlight to break

the monotony of a white

smothered world,

taking on their shapeless,

useless forms

until winter decides,

in its own time, to thaw.

So cold. 

Michael R Chapman
~ master of none ~