A Winter Pond

Explore #499 on 19-02-11

 

Sting-chill of winter matt –

Her frozen hand caressed us all;

 

And calming bleach of silence

Pressed upon the rustic scape

To leave an ashen underbelly –

Once raging summer chroma.

 

Even Winter’s gelid lungs laboured

Under heavy drag of flakes –

Their pilgrimage: to stay a deadened floor

In crunch-white peace.

 

And round about, the weight of time

– Collapsing under Winter’s drag –

Transmutes to grey: it’s three o’clock –

No lights pricking black out here! –

Even the night globe,

The Great Reflector – stonewalled;

Camouflaged by lead-laden cloud

Lolling in the claustrophobic noon.

 

At ground, a farm pond –

Seized in a dark hiatus –

Offered up repentance –

Why, it dared to harbour life!

 

I forgave it in my desperate gaze

Upon the crazy-paving surface,

That sealed in the black-chill temperature,

Where at bottom, something nithered

Still survived.

 

Mark R Slaughter

 

 

 

 

Done