Winter Glass Poem by andrue finley

Winter glass


Pressed against the open field. Changes of pressure, both high and low form the chilled winds that scratch the surface of my soft skin

With frozen cotton biting at my internal flames. I struggle keep the heat underneath an already delicate layer of flesh and cloth.

A roar or hollow makes me reconsider my own beliefs as I listen, I hear the quiet words spoken gently saying 'sorry'.

The parallel blanket cast over the open fields where I remember blades of grass slicing the wind.

With blades sheathed the winds gust ferociously. I swear by my own two feet they became a hat as they no longer sided towards the ground they've been so familiar with.

I forgotten how it feels to be helpless up in the spacious air but remember feeling happier but that must have been when the ground below had a opportunity to dance.

Now the wind controls what goes on as it played with me and that feeling was now much scarier than ever.

It quickly become reality as I seem the crystal finger tips trickle towards my eye lids and I've become in cases in a fine shard.


The wind subsides and I plummet with out warning.

Shatter

Left like broken winter glass on a field once filled with life.

The pieces left preserved.

Left forever broken.