And if a cold wind blew,
If the yellow light from a naked bulb,
Threw shadows of a ghastly hue
If holes in the shoes let snow seep through
Numbing the inside part,
If the wind's sharp sting 'gainst so small a thing
Could stop a beating heart
If time crept slowly o'er those days,
And from those days came years,
If winter would not yield to spring,
Holding fast to frozen tears
If memories cause hurt and pain
As they most surely do
If the brain locks tight the prison door
What chance for life anew?
Jeanne Herrod
7 comments:
These are beautiful words, and you must continue to write and draw and paint and dance and everything else. The way to deal with any grief is to express, express, express, and still celebrate this moment of existence that each of us has.
Bless you.
I cried a river
like never before
nothing can open
my prison door!
one of the widows
This is very, very beautiful. Thank you so much for opening up and sharing with us.
Very nice and very thoughtful. Thanks for sharing your art...both painting and verbal.
You write so beautifully (is that a word?)
writing poetry is such an art and I like your little sketch - goes well.
Your words are so beautiful! They have made me stop and realize how precious the moment is, how fragile. I believe, art, like words, can be learned, those of us that didn't have parent to show us the way, have to start from the very bottom and learn every step, as opposed to those with artistic parents, where composition comes along with passing the butter.
This is very moving. I'm glad you trusted us enough to share it.
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