A Taste Of How My Mind Starts To Work When The Weather Turns Cold Poem by Shan Bruland

A Taste Of How My Mind Starts To Work When The Weather Turns Cold



Through years of suffering this lonesome path
And long slow days of hiding from her icy grasp
Outwardly I remain stable, solid, and lacking wrath
Due only unto the pitiful fact that I idly clasp
I crawl from Sol to Luna, from Luna to Sol
Innumerable times will the lumbering cycle pass
With a touch more of my once glorious soul gone
Each time, my essence shredded through shattered glass
I feel the cold deeper and deeper, not warmed by song
Nor drink, nor religion, not even the gregarious pull
That effects all on this earthly plane, both mortal and not
Each cycle drowns more of me like a once mighty hull
Riddled with pockmarks and chips that out the sun blot
As each hour I tax this mortal coil a bit more than I should
I know that the minutes will add up, the hours, days and years
Until nothing is left but the core as I entered this Terran mold
And there is nothing left to share upon my death but human tears

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Shan Bruland

Shan Bruland

Portland, Oregon, US
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