Cold Warmth

By Jonas Robinson

I see talent in the words of my poetry
Like a flower in the green grass
Powerfully, unbelievably beautiful
That sinks and sings and hauntingly lasts
Like a ghost in a house
There forever
With cold warmth
Like an everlasting fever

Where did this talent come from?
Did I invent it? Did I steal it?
Am I a scientist in white?
Inventing all these sights?
Putting chemicals together to form hauntings lasts?
Or am I a robber in black?
With a moneybag of thoughts?
And am I conspicuous and am I obvious and am I doing anything at all?

I see talent beneath the soul of the words of my poetry
Can you see through the soul?
Or am I just a fool?
Can you see all the eloquence?
Can you feel the colors?
Or is it just a sense?
You don't seem surprised,
Please tell me, oh tell me, am I just a fool?

Unauthorized Copying Is Prohibited. Ask the author first.
Copyright 2018 Jonas Robinson
Published on Friday, July 6, 2018.     Filed under: "Fantasy" and "Poetry"

Author's Note:

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Comments on "Cold Warmth"

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  • dwells On Sunday, July 8, 2018, dwells (5806)By person wrote:

    The proverbial question JR and you unabashedly postulate the sound of silence that prompts many to wither and die. Buried in an unmarked grave; with only their thoughts to keep them company. We write mostly for ourselves because that is what we do. Cheers my friend! - Dan

  • Jonas Robinson On Sunday, July 8, 2018, Jonas Robinson (398)By person wrote:

    Thank you. Good insight.

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