Cold Poem by Chris Townsend

This warmth it burns it attacks this grey desolate hole,
As I feel a convulsion, it’s dragging from my soul,
This image stands clear in sea of mist,
This solitary woman, hand clenched in fist,
She screams in my ears,
She yells through all my fears,
Hold on tight as this water falls,
This crystal heat, this bitter sore,
Shielded from my feelings by a wrought iron gate,
As I drowned in this abyss, a challenge to my fate,
If there’s something in this image I can see,
If within this confinement I am actually free,
Questions swirl to take control,
I pull myself together to make myself whole,
In this place where I lay me head to the floor,
There’s orange shadows filled with rage, that you can’t ignore,
As I stand again, to face my day,
As I cry my forgiveness within clasped hands that prey,
This distance that holds me away from these chains,
Along desolate nowhere roads, sorry filled plains,
As waves crash as oceans collide,
Within my pretty pictures, a quiet place for me to hide…