Pallid hands and fingertips
Grey and bloody nose
Footprints fading circular
In ever rising snows
Time teases obtusely
Turning over with the wind
And our weary explorer
No longer intrepid
Haunted by the heat of home
The ghosts of kin besides
No path now worth the finding
Where only thorns reside
There are depths to being lost
And somewhere down below
Confusion is a comfort
And warmth is letting go
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Comments2
Beautiful flow. You've given a 'thing' - frostbite - depth and poignancy. Well done.
Thank you!
I actually came up with the name after I wrote the poem. Like I always do.
I often find things line up even more perfectly than if I had planned it.
: P
'Pallid hands and fingertips
Grey and bloody nose
Footprints fading circular
In ever rising snows'
'There are depths to being lost
And somewhere down below
Confusion is a comfort
And warmth is letting go'..
Brilliant!
Thank you Mek!!!
As always
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