Black snow drifts in my broken dreams, crawling
Like ants made of fire, across my dead face.
Yellow skeletons haul their carcass souls
In a place where heathens drool ecstasy
To walls dripping plasma bubbles and Hell.
Flakes lost in eyes grow cold in innocence,
The season of the tundra nightmare wraps
My bones to a deadly chilblain silence.
If only we could take the lost hours
To reverse minutes of a lonely clock -
So as I might find myself; angel-child
Walking backwards in a blizzard of time
To where the soft sun grows, the orchid blooms
The blood of shadows in the future cold.
*** Author's dribble: Technically an unrhymed sonnet with the traditional iambic pentameters and with lines 9 & 10 loosely 'inspired' by saintedmad's "With A Stick" poem; probably my fav DP poem (should be checked out by all true lovers of poetry!!). Kind regards - British/Aussie Hog-breath, Col.***
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