A Feeling of Winter

By quantummysticist18

Life itself is a near-death experience,
The light at the end of the tunnel
Just the streetlamp at 42nd and Park.
Our ancestors surround us incognito,
Disguised as strangers whom we brush by
Without a second glance.
Winter holds us hostage with a ransom note
Demanding blood and limbs,
And nostalgia is but a form of homesickness.
If only I could read the stage directions
Printed before my lines on the invisible script
That hangs in the freezing air.
I do not think I shall make it to spring.

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2014 Christopher P. Gazeent.
Published on Monday, October 20, 2014.     Filed under: "Reflective" and "Poetry"

Author's Note:

Very depressing, but then again that's why I'm here.
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