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| morgueFile |
Ice blood
thickens, congeals
with spindly fingers
stretching across winter’s
skin.
We bear the marks,
troublesome, melancholic,
after a year of sidetracked
seasons,
of storms. But wait
for hope
to spring, reveal
what in the dark
can grow.
© 2014 Jennifer Wagner
18 comments:
I like this a lot, both literally and as a possible metaphor.
I love the things that show their beauty in the dark. Not because I dislike the light--I like it just as much. But when something wonderful grows in the dark, it existence speaks of hope.
Love this!
I agree with Justin. This is good on multiple levels.
I love the imagery of winter's ice blood waiting for spring ~ Superb ending Jennifer ~ Have a good week ~
Yes, this piece can be taken as reality or metaphor. I love "ice blood." It is amazing what can grow in the dark to bloom from winter's blanket. Thanks so much for writing for the challenge!
Wondeful--as if those frosty fingers contained no pain but the pangs of nature's birth. I wrote another that might mate with yours: http://susanspoetry.blogspot.com/2014/12/pain.html
Beautiful thought, Jennifer.
nice use of nature in this
Jennifer you begin in an oxymoron mood and continue to challenge us outside the box, quite an interesting write
much love...
This is beautiful, and it touches me on a personal level.
I enjoyed your poem very much, I found it to be melancholy yet still filled with hope. Winter can be that kind of season.
So many layers and nuances in this beautifully crafted metaphor, Jennifer - that ends on such a soothing note of possibilities.
Like this a bunch Jennifer--really beautiful layering here
Lovely poem, mournful with hope springing from within. I really like it!
This is just lovely.. Especially the first stanza hits me hard... I like that there is hope in the end...
after a year of side tracked seasons...what a line that is...
and spring will come...in its time....
"morguefile" is the image source? yikes!
this piece also has a cold grip to it ~
How did I miss this earlier? (Now I remember: I was away at the time.) Beautiful poem and picture.
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