Katherine
I’m So Cold
Winter is very cold.
With identically original snowflakes,
Like the originally identical days.
Dark autumn nights turn into dark winter afternoons.
Everything quickly slows down or stops all together,
Animals hibernate, plants die, but we, we carry on.
The three months of chill bleed into the surrounding weeks,
Lasting much longer than it should.
Breath freezing with the air, joining the cold.
Creatures migrate to escape the repelling grip of frost.
It’s tempting to go with them.
The frozen land, a wiped clean countertop,
Is barren, like the neighborhood of trees nearby.
The dull hours passing by gradually mix with the bleak gray sky.
The eerily normal week between christmas and new years,
The intensely bleak cadence of life,
All passing by in a variously montone blur.
Gardens, Flowers, and Cerebral Matter
Gardens filled with blooms, so unlike wasteland.
The varied flowers like my memories,
My mind, the garden, my body, the land.
Detailed petals make documentaries.
Soil nurturing growth as parenting does.
The butterflies drinking the sweet nectar,
The bees taking pollen to spread, buzzing,
The companion spreaders and acceptors.
A backyard of fine possibilities,
A terrace filled with fair occurrences,
A greenhouse of responsibilities,
A shed of doubt, of locked disturbances.
A futile garden rich with potential.
A mind spoiled with doubt of existential.
Things I Often Think About
The clock and I are both running,
However, I’m in track going slowly,
While the time quickly ticks down to nothing.
I should speed up while I wish time would slow down.
Somedays rain and my figurine falls down.
An unbalanced model on the top shelf.
Other knick knacks, models of my interests, are all around.
Some costing an arm and a convincing rationalization.
The same bookshelf cumulates books on the lower shelves.
The hundreds of pages and thousands of words,
Each with a fake reality, each supplying an escape from ourselves.
While the time quickly ticks down to nothing.
Little paws announce the arrival of happiness and fur in the air.
Possibly the culprit of the fallen figurine, right over there,
Returning to the scene of the crime.
I beckon her, and warmth towards me.
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