These three years are a bleached,
bitterly bluegray frozen, tundra-
full of shallow graves,
where I have buried my companions,
dreams,
and thin ice,
traveled with careful steps,
cherished occasional fires,
to warm the permafrost around my heart,
I follow ghosts made of frost,
who seldom speak,
but never fail to remind me that I am lost.
May 26, 2016
May 26, 2016 at 4:17 PM UTC
These three years are a bleached,
bitterly bluegray frozen, tundra-
full of shallow graves,
where I have buried my companions,
dreams,
and thin ice,
traveled with careful steps,
cherished occasional fires,
to warm the permafrost around my heart,
I follow ghosts made of frost,
who seldom speak,
but never fail to remind me that I am lost.
I just feel frustrated and lonely today. I have been looking back over the last 3-4 years and realize that I have so little to show for my hard work. And I wonder why I try.
Request permission to use this poem