The dreary skies of Winter have me roving through the past
to things that quickly pass away and leave an image, marked.
What is this mood that makes me brood, groaning to be soothed;
Can Eve be blamed for whims and such, of what she has no clue?
In our parting hung a pause, a momentary clause,
Your gaze did twist and haunt my softly beating heart.
Andromeda herself thus chained brave Perseus would meet;
Fairer by far and soaring free are you, than he could ever be.
Day upon day, and night after night
drab low clouds like a ceiling hang –
January – stretched over the dull horizon.
Brooding grasps hold an image
warm and frozen against my eyes.
Groaning at my kinsman Eve,
the fault she handed down to me.
Tendrils like fingers press and
rub rose petals into jam,
leaving the stain of your gaze
upon a lilting beating heart.
Perched by a churning sea, Andromeda
herself thus chained, brave Perseus did meet – but
You are lovelier by far than he, could ever be.
after thinking my inability to choose a format [read – style] for this poetic theme was the result of ineptitude, I came to find out it’s not uncommon. Just tiny little specs of hope or affirmation that even without any training in poetry….I may be on the right path. Or not.