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White Winter Morning

Sapling-deep
in crusted freeze,
planted immoveable through
the weight of miles,
freezing miles,
I kneel, monolithic
and insignificant,
statuary on the edge
of the middle
of the creeping chaos of winter:
politics of bones and ice.

The snow becomes me,
complements me,
suggests that I sleep.
The gradated depth
of grey night-time clouds
throws around me
blankets of still warm
air, growing in temperature.
The heat is palming me,
tightening its grip
around my crisp bones,
a hell of comfort.
I could sleep now,
I could sleep...

And the trees,
ever-green,
emerge in morning light
with unconcern
in crystal robes,
and look over my
still
frozen
body.



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This article has 2 comments. Post your own now!

the_sparrow This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. said...
Nov. 22, 2012 at 2:58 am
So much to love about this poem. The powerful repetition, the beautiful descriptions, the way the rhythm picks up as you move through the stanzas...

But perhaps most of all, I love your contrast. You write of "sleeping" in the winter snow, yet you're confronted with evergreens--the representation of life in full and continual bloom. Your own "insignificance" is met with their "unconcern," becuase, well, life goes on. Even when you don't. Just be... (more »)
 
PaigeStreet This work has been published in the Teen Ink monthly print magazine. replied...
Nov. 23, 2012 at 6:19 pm
Thank you! I'm glad you like it :) 
 
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