Cold


Cold.
The bare bones of the forest hang defeated,
Trembling limbs encased in winter glass.
The woods are captive, a hostage to this frozen day.
An elk lies beneath the canopy of snow,
Its matted fur twitches dully in the wind,
A casualty to this unforgiving season.
The world seems paused, its breath held awaiting spring.
A dead place now, silence reigns.
Now and then, the groaning of heavy limbs,
The trees fight on against the weight of winter.
Hills of white encircle their trunks,
Like linen, it pools loosely around them.
Far away the brittle cry of a crow rips through the silence,
A raw and lonely sound.
Cold wind whistles through the forest,
Demanding the ethereal silence once more.
Stillness returns, winter endures.
Cold, always cold.

Poem Rating:
Click To Rate This Poem!

Continue Rating Poems


Share This Poem