Michael Kolb Poems

Waves of steam heat buffered us in cold war school
Hiss-ping, hiss-ping, sang the box of heat under the cold window panes

Mittens, rubber boots, and coats lined up like warriors
...

Cool springs the moss below torn leathery feet
Cold runs the stream's sweet quenching relief
Before I lay resting in the meadow's crimson peace
Before I lay resting in the meadow's crimson peace
...

What beauty has departed our grasp
with little notice but the acknowledgement of a few?

What profound action so gentle, or words uttered mere seconds before death, mere seconds before glory, mere seconds before oblivion? But witnessed only by a handful chosen by chance to be a notary to the conscious mind of another at it's finest hour
...