The morning comes with frosted panes.
Cold veils block the view of a world -
Still melting.
That icy cloth, never wiped away.
We stand before it,
Carve sentiments in the dew,
Only to frost them once more.
A strange melancholy it brings.
Now the scarlet flame rises -
Grows yellow,
And clears the mist from the window.
We get on with our day.
-
Author:
Matthew J. Bays (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 14th, 2025 21:37
- Comment from author about the poem: I wrote this poem 5 years ago. It was the first one that I ever had a fever for, where I couldn't put my pen down until I had finished, as if compelled by some force of literature. To this day, it is one of my favourite pieces. It's short, well written, and gets across the emotion of melancholy in a way that I scarcely have ease recreating. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 36
- Users favorite of this poem: arqios, Cheeky Missy, RSM0812
Offline)
Comments6
Welcome to MPS Matthew 🙏🏻🕊
Happy to be here 🙂
Good stuff👍🏻
You get a sense of a troubled night, then in the morning taking a deep breath and trying to push through the day, enjoyed the read
I'm glad you enjoyed it 🙂
You are very welcome
Good write M.
Thank you!
A wonderful metaphor poetically expressed in short verses. The imagery fits well and it can be taken more than one way. Very nice.
Thanks for the kind words!
Liked and Faved, this is the kind of poem one has a fever for for reading 🙏🏻🕊
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy it 🙂
You are most welcome 🙏🏻🕊
Im trying to imagine what the flame represents. Sunlight, warmer temperatures, someone's breath? Great read. I really liked it a lot.
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.