In winter, melancholic mist
floats friendless ‘cross the frozen field,
as I hang lonely and unkissed,
and to my dread depression yield.
Above, the shrouded, silent sun
stands still, or so it seems to me.
Below, this dismal devil’s son
swings slowly on the Judas-Tree.
By noon, when dreary darkness falls,
I hear a soulful singing bird.
From tree to tree the creature calls.
He hopes, by one, he will be heard.
At dusk, when all sweet dreams expire,
my empty, aching heart grows cold.
And thoughts, once fed with Jesus-fire,
turn grey the season’s gleaming gold.
-
Author:
Blue-eyed Bolla (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: January 10th, 2024 06:30
- Comment from author about the poem: for traitors
- Category: Religion
- Views: 8
Offline)
Comments2
Was I traitorous when I changed giving my custom to Waitrose and went to the Co-op instead?! lol.
Kind of. And the Co-op is deffo a step down from the classic Waitrose. Come back! lol
And yet the Co-op is expensive these days too!
Beautiful poetry,wonderful rhyme and cadence! Great message though sad
Thank you, C8
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