my metaphor

So--- This is a poem written around the time of the one at the bottom. Very negative yet beautiful to me. if only you could see what I see, when I wrote and read it.


I've dreampt of bitter winter
Red berries rouge my lips
wondering the meadow
with frostbit fingertips
Find myself a cozy place
beneath a lifeless tree
rest my back against it's trunk
and watch the sky glitter down...on me
In a world of white perfection
soft hibiscus scents the air
and past the haze I see him
bitter hands comb through ragged hair
I make love to a frozen angel
on a bed of snowflake sin
wrap my soul around his back
and ride the frosty wind
God's cotton tears beneath us
I arch my back in vain
icy feather slice along my skin
and I collapse in pain
So softly do I whisper
an old yet broken prayer
BUT no clasped hands 'round a rosary
can create a LIGHT that isn't there.