Poetry

This is poetry. Mackenzie would never ever ever write poetry or post it on her blog.... It's just little ol' me, Persephone, typing away on myself, and Mackenzie had nothing to do with it. Nothing whatsoever. She didn't even think of reading this in FYS.... Yeah, comments would be welcome, but not sarcastic ones.

Snow Thoughts - September 17th or thereabouts

In the unlit silence I wait alone
contentedly, comfortably cold.
While half-dreams, and day-dreams, and proto-memories
rush through my mind;
finding partial voice in written words.

I remember - in the snow walking
talking as a life-line, a life-light,
keeping night at bay - I was never afraid with you.

Reality is distant - ethereal, unreal.
The chill, the brisk invigorating damp invites reflection,
though sentimental.
An elusive half-scent
calling back the exact moment I realized best-friendship.

Has it been forgotten?

Alone I wait, and write, and think,
remembering, re-living
the overlooked - till the gypsy winter wind came.
I haven't felt this wind, this smell, in years.
Dancing wind, joyous wind!
Echoing, resounding, coming larger, clearer,
tangible, and more so every minute.
Remember when we walked in snow?
Agonizing over boys and human stupidity,
that rapidity of forgetfulness only people boast.
Cold, but conversation warms us more.

We pace, laughing,
you, a sage swathed in a blue down coat,
remember?