Winter tear drops leave upon the white flickers in the sea,
Where I’ve looked to the red droplets that were dark as geraniums,
Winter beats the cold orchids into the wind that is frail as bone,
Where memory passed darkly as the ocean-white dream
That is the faint mesa that trails of rocky red in the sun-set,
Which is the winter mid-dream on a night of silence, my sorrow again,
That will dwell in faint winds during the late dawn
Blinded by the hyacinth that gave silence within the moorland
Which gave me the scent of these silent tears that blemish my hands,
And in the dark, I passed beyond the trembled gardens,
That went to the dissent of the darkening preamble of din
That struck the midnight. Who was I?
A stunned wick of cold, and a sense of mourning for myself.
I become forgetful as the decaying waters…

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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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