A cold chill serves to
Bring us patience;
A seen breathing air
Can freeze our words,
Capture them,
Look at them,
Decide if we should suck them in again.
As skin draws closer to the bone,
We can live through cold, slow cells
The memories only frozen flesh remembers.
Rivers of blue and green run hot under cold
Orange
Red
Yellow.
With my arms raised up,
They can clash until I lose all feeling.
- A Disassociated Thought Pattern: Cold, - (c)'d Josko Klun, Red Bones Poetry Gang: Iss. Nov. '06
Unknown "Blackfield"
- 16 years, 11 months, 5 days ago
