TIME TO GO
Winter cramps my hands,
a wind blows in my bones.
Under a mound of snow
the dead lie packed in eternity.
A rubbish of leaves
scatter in a frozen mirage,
tossing in an endless
promise of dawn.
I try waving a wand
like a mad Merlin,
casting a spell
to change strands of icicles
into a budding bough.
Still, the cold day primps
and struts like an aging whore,
full of bravado,
as if we weren't praying
for her to call it a day.
copyright/all rights reserved/ 2011
http://www.minblu.blogspot.com/
http://twitter.com/lynxny
