Child of Summer (Part I)

Petals touched with frozen steel
Caught in the repose of flight
Drift upon my heart. A voice
That pierces through the winter breeze,
Cuts me with its frostbite gleam
So soft and warm a death, for snow.

(9 February 2017)

trees
Snowfall at my university, where the weather this semester changed from winter to spring and then back again probably 10 times.

It’s been much too long since I’ve shared any of my poetry with you all.  🙂

(And doing so reminds me that I need to write more, so I thank you for your readership.)

Random question for discussion: in the Owl City song “Fireflies”, Adam Young sings that he gets “a thousand hugs from ten thousand lightning bugs”.  Does this mean all 10,000 of them hug him a thousand times, totaling 10,000,000 hugs, or do only 1/10 of them hug him so that 1,000 refers to the net total of the hugs?  Discuss amongst yourselves.  (If you follow me on Twitter, you already know the answer, but I’m curious to hear all of your best, most emphatic, (il)logical-sounding answers.)

May the peace of Christ be with you now and always.

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Pieces

The Autumn leaves are falling
And here within they’ve settled,
Though I can’t find where,
Shattering like ice
Underneath the frosted
Surface of the deep.

The silent snows are drifting.
I have no heart for fires
That cannot understand,
So full of warmth and dancing,
The peaceful lack of color
Which clothes the streets below.

The winter wind is rising.
Some voice recalling sunlight:
“All appears so fine.”
I can no longer bear
These lies which keep my soul
From flying with the breeze.

The leaves are rent to pieces.
I did not move to save them.
The wind collects them faster
Than I could dare pursue.
And so I stand in silence
As daylight slowly fades.

Some voice within is crying
For seasons that were wasted.
The Summer is forgotten,
The Spring I never knew.
They are not dead, but sleeping
Deep beneath the snow.

“They shall soon reawaken,”
A voice once said to me.
For now the wind keeps rushing,
Time disappears too fast.
Perhaps I still could catch it,
With Winter as my hope.

My coat with sleeves outstretched
They found upon the snow.
The chill has pierced me through.
Hah! How could I mind?
Not with the stars as guides,
My hair whipped wild with speed.

Far off, some lights a-glimmer
Reflected in the fragments
Of tattered Autumn leaves
Convince me that in flying,
Having lost the fireside,
I have gained the world.