Ice Journal #8102031

original poetry

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I didn't know you were fond of cold
On the frozen air to fly so far:
Yet through the snow a love untold
You soared through time & brought.

My star of aeons or,
(when I once was bold)
My youthful nebulae: I dreamed.
But mine was yours, so shared the orb
Of aspirance on far journeys set.

To the north! Or nothing,
I stayed behind; I sat in adolescence,
Scourge, that sentenced me to days
Of pain unwieldly and morose.

Ghasts gathered in my barn brain
And made me do such foolish things.
Spiderwebbing time reached and touched my cheek
But it was your hand. I was ill with delirium
Too weak to even for a stellar rem'dy seek.

Fate was a bypass bridge
For you to escape my somber rhythms.
For that, a hearty congratulations!
And a strobing wave goodbye

Across the sad piers,

Over the hills that weep.

My sadness was most happy
As I aged and truth sank in.

But how, still here to mend,
Do you say hello on a winter morn
Where stacks the gentle snow forlorn?

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Notes

Poetry is a way of processing our life experience, transmuting it into something of beauty (hopefully.) I hope that if it is not something you do, you will consider giving it a chance. Don't worry about sharing with anyone if you don't want to! It's ok to keep it to yourself. There is a voice always telling us that what we create is not good, or not good enough. Growth in art is dependent on putting the voice of judgement in its proper place to aid in discrimination but not overstep its bounds.
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In any case, I still maintain that poetry is "abstract journaling" when practiced in a more casual way. Here is one such entry from my journal. I share it in the hopes of constructing a bridge: may you also come join the conglomeration of poets who, in spite of all, still dream.