a memory
it is not mine
upon a log I sit
‘neath the snowy pine
under darkened sky
beside earthen stove
a bitter wind kicks up
in the moonlit grove
the jingle of the horse & sleigh
as it carries him so far away
I cannot weep, I do not cry
a muted heart is breaking
and as the silence lies
a frozen bough is snapping – loud
to crack the quiet
still, expected in the freeze
I do not startle, there is no breeze
no wind at back to impel me
my bones have stiffened here
my mind is anything but clear
as the winter’s solitude
forces delusions rather rude
inner quietude never did follow outer
now it’s simply easier to hear
internal screaming
though the fire burns, continuous
it takes us not
because it cannot reach
what we refuse we got
buried below
alive and dead
some peace & love
blessings bestowed
how are these all stripped from me?
as he plods on down the snowy path
I know he won’t be coming back
so I’m wrecked to watch him leave
though it is not my memory
The Halfwit Writer 