With December’s breath I am whole again,
crackling with hope in the grey and rain,
Through rotting leaves I wander and wade
relish the decay of these days.
Oh my brain, it is scorned by the horror of words
and infinite texts that seem so absurd,
in the library I think, and I bite back my cries,
each bitter reminder that love lies in lone skies.
But, no! There is hope, for the ice is in bloom
and snowflakes now cluster on the window of my room,
and the waste of the winter is not quite a tundra
for I hear the bells call, the semester goes under.
All chitchats and language now swirl into view
through the fog of sorrow glints the elusively new,
and my mind will assent to only this;
this lovely thought, this season, Christmas.
And I stifle no cynicism, having no reason to moan,
I’m bound home on the train, quite simply alone,
save for the spirits that spin in my head
,
the prospect of faces, not books to be read!
Farewell to the city, if only for a while,
The lights are lavish in their pretty little smiles,
but I am not transfixed, I am barely aware
for the glow of my home is for all I do care!
Now I slip into the safety of Daisybank’s arms,
with many hot stews my stomach is calmed.
In this brief time comes embracing warmth;
no exams, no essays, no tears of scorn.
For my kin I am blessed
and with their presence no longer am I oppressed;
yes me, the starving soul of a girl
lovelorn and hungry for her home, this world.
And all that is festive, shimmering gold
is in the hands of many to hold,
and pass the gifts that press their love
and know one day is not enough
To reap the sense of seasonal joy
to forget the stress of being employed
and swallow all that one can eat,
a cure, a remedy sweet for one’s deceit.
Yet as long as the photo does not fade away -
remains a flashlight amongst the verges of decay -
then with every star may we make the wish
to prolong the soar of a spirit submerged in bliss.
Dec 20, 2011
Dec 20, 2011 at 11:38 AM UTC
With December’s breath I am whole again,
crackling with hope in the grey and rain,
Through rotting leaves I wander and wade
relish the decay of these days.
Oh my brain, it is scorned by the horror of words
and infinite texts that seem so absurd,
in the library I think, and I bite back my cries,
each bitter reminder that love lies in lone skies.
But, no! There is hope, for the ice is in bloom
and snowflakes now cluster on the window of my room,
and the waste of the winter is not quite a tundra
for I hear the bells call, the semester goes under.
All chitchats and language now swirl into view
through the fog of sorrow glints the elusively new,
and my mind will assent to only this;
this lovely thought, this season, Christmas.
And I stifle no cynicism, having no reason to moan,
I’m bound home on the train, quite simply alone,
save for the spirits that spin in my head
,
the prospect of faces, not books to be read!
Farewell to the city, if only for a while,
The lights are lavish in their pretty little smiles,
but I am not transfixed, I am barely aware
for the glow of my home is for all I do care!
Now I slip into the safety of Daisybank’s arms,
with many hot stews my stomach is calmed.
In this brief time comes embracing warmth;
no exams, no essays, no tears of scorn.
For my kin I am blessed
and with their presence no longer am I oppressed;
yes me, the starving soul of a girl
lovelorn and hungry for her home, this world.
And all that is festive, shimmering gold
is in the hands of many to hold,
and pass the gifts that press their love
and know one day is not enough
To reap the sense of seasonal joy
to forget the stress of being employed
and swallow all that one can eat,
a cure, a remedy sweet for one’s deceit.
Yet as long as the photo does not fade away -
remains a flashlight amongst the verges of decay -
then with every star may we make the wish
to prolong the soar of a spirit submerged in bliss.
Daisybank is the name of my house (at home)
It's about coming home for Christmas from university for the first time.
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