What is this feeling within my heart;
Concealed by daylight hours, in a shroud of taut restraint.
Winter evenings consume, yesterdays pursue me,
Smiling, speaking, acting – I can cope, I can cope….
An injured heart bares healing in the nearness of love,
Yet love becomes frigid when winter sweeps in, I am alone.
The world is cold, my heart laments in fearful silence
Winter, winter, where are your friends? ,
Betrayed by the sheath of night, rejoicing in decay
In scornful silence, reflecting on unfulfilled dreams,
Dreading the night, enduring the day. Winter.
Hopes and Dreams, rest upon a cradle of love,
Unconditional, fruitful, forbearing, eternal,
Winter steals, freezes, and denies.
To be alone in this season, is to be alone,
No voices, no echoes, no gentle memories shared.
A solitary tree yielding to an unfeeling winter,
Surrendering its leaves to winters steel sky.
Fleeting Sunshine, stolen, lacking of kindness, or warmth
Sheets of invasive rain, such unforgiving indifference
Winter is reconciliation without forgiveness
Yet, it is the door to Spring, and the resurrection of hope.
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Comments about this poem (Winter Nights…… by Adrian Wait )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(1886 - 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
William Butler Yeats
(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(April 13,1939 - August 30, 2013)
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