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by Logan Author IconMail Icon
Rated: E · Poetry · Experience · #2215437
May your oceans be calm and your circles warm
Cold Circles

In the corner of a frozen heart,
such silent embers, brightly burn
Round arctic circles, frozen, stark,
cold fires... will we ever learn?

A Knight that never took his chance,
In days long past, aware, he knows
Paintings sighted... safer stance,
not knowing how paint, feels, flows

Carried on a canvas, glossed,
fresh doubt, fleshed out, and long since dried,
Textures missed around us, lost
'midst feelings the soul denied

Denied amidst the ghosts that haunt,
that speak too loud through living tongues
Phantom shadows stretched long, taunt,
toward the points our hearts belong

In vessels large on oceans blue,
from ice caps brave, we sail... grow;
but when the ship seems not for you,
how far away should one soul stow?

With channels locked and no response,
just how far should we voyage, try?
With tunnels blocked and thoughts ensconced,
and painful truths bound up in lies

Leaving us, a soul stripped bare,
so right, and yet so abstract... wrong
Dark holes, we didn't know were there,
until the right one came along

Someone special, spun off course,
in wild winds, its worth the row
Something fresh will need some force,
but how much?... can we ever know?

The distance we should venture on,
pinned sails, strapped to masts, long seized;
in howling winds, our hopes have gone,
traversing foreign, sallow seas

Ports and harbours, closed up tight,
lights housed safely, lining shore
Alone, abandoned in the night,
'midst waves we've washed in, times before

Lovers in imagined trysts,
'midst tides that turn, they come and go
Ghostships lost in distant mists,
lost wraiths we thought we used to know

in seasons past, we grasp, we cling,
to summers bygone, crazy... warm
Bring thunder, blitzkrieg, lightning,
I'm ready now... to brave this storm

A tempest by another name,
a portent ringing, sound and true
A squall so sudden, not the same,
a perfect beat, keeps bringing you

to easels I can ill afford,
to canvases where textures whirl
Painted by a hopeful lord,
as waves wash bold, artistic swirls

Round arctic circles, cold and stark,
'neath frozen fire, lost in turns
Dark corners of a frozen heart,
where silent embers... endless... burn
© Copyright 2020 Logan (stipey at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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