Eight-line Poems

Chill

Chill

The forest waits, breathless in the cold,
as the night freezes in silence,
and frost paints your breath still,
a lighter cloud against the darkness,
hanging like a veil in the sharp,
stinging atmosphere.

Far away, beyond the trees,
the moon rises in ghastly pallor
and the long complaint of a howling wolf
greets its frigid majesty.
Your fingers, numb and brittle,
clench in search of shelter.


Line count: 8 + 4.
Free verse
For Express It In Eight, 12.05.22
Prompt: Write a 12 line poem that chills to the bone.