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Poetry
| print friendly version | |
| cold | |
| By punchy | ||
| 23 March 2008 | ||
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Head back and looking up, it falls unpredictable into my mouth
Cold and unsolid it has no flavour yet too much taste
No sound about it but the silence is deafening
As every particle dissolves apparent is the waste
Is this what it means? coldness tainted with wet
Whiteness painted with grey and lacking in substance
The joy of creating cold men , just to watch them spoil
Or is it to enjoy the hope and beauty in that very first glance
That I believe can be the only answer
For hope is never fading just simply changeable
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