FROZEN

 
Edited after the second poetry group critique.
 
FROZEN
 
The lost cat…
a still and lifeless form,
was an aching reminder
of the biting cold of childhood.
 
 
Once soft and delicate,
black fur became frosty… then frigid.
No longer comforting
to a young child.
 
 
Cloaked in icy cold,
memory, too, froze.
Terror took a stand.
Like thin ice, innocence cracked.
 
 
Sitting by the campfire…
peering into the past, I urgently exclaim:
It is not your fault…
It is not your fault.
 
 
My cold toes
wiggle again.
My thawing fingers grasp
the twigs as they feed the fire.
 
 
As the dam breaks…
the frozen terror
of a young child
begins to melt.
 
 
By the fire…
again, I softly whisper.
It is not your fault…
It is not your fault.
 
 
Copyright David Hoffmann © 2024 – All Rights Reserved
 
 
FROZEN on my WordPress page  
 
Edited after the first poetry group critique.
 
FROZEN
 
The lost cat…
a still and lifeless frozen memory,
was an aching reminder
of the biting cold of childhood.
 
 
Once soft and delicate,
black fur became frosty… then frozen.
No longer comforting
to a young child.
 
 
Cloaked in icy cold,
memory too, froze.
Terror took a stand.
Like thin ice, innocence cracked.
 
 
Now, sitting by the campfire…
peering into the past, I urgently exclaim:
It is not your fault…
It is not your fault.
 
 
Whistling winds serenade
the snap and crackle
of glowing embers
fleetingly fanning the flames.
 
 
My chilly toes
wiggle again with delight.
My thawing fingers grasp
the twigs as they feed the fire.
 
 
Golden brown marshmallows
bring smiles.
Amber embers
warm hearts.
 
 
By the fire…
again, I softly whisper.
It is not your fault…
It is not your fault.
 
 
As the dam breaks…
the frozen terror
of a young child
begins to melt.
 
 
Copyright David Hoffmann © 2024 – All Rights Reserved
 
 
FROZEN on my WordPress page  
 
 

Original version
FROZEN
 
 
The lost cat…
a still and lifeless frozen memory,
was an aching reminder
of the bitter biting cold of childhood.
 
Once soft and delicate black fur
became frosty then frozen.
No longer comforting
to a young child.
 
Cloaked in bitter icy cold
memory too froze.
Terror took a stand.
Like thin ice, innocence cracked.
 
Now we sit by the campfire.
Gently looking into his eyes, I urgently exclaim:
It is not your fault…
it is not your fault.
 
A whistling wind serenades
the snap and crackle
of glowing embers
fleetingly fanning the flames.
 
The once-frozen toes
wiggle again with delight.
The thawing throbbing fingers grasp
the twigs as they feed the fire.
 
Golden brown marshmallows
bring smiles to our eyes.
Amber glowing embers…
warm our hearts.
 
As we sit by the campfire… again,
Gently looking into his eyes, I softly whisper;
It is not your fault…
it is not your fault.
 
As the dam breaks…
the frozen terror
of a young child
begins to melt.
 
 
The cold front finally moved through.
 

 
 

~~David

 
 

    
 

    
 
 
FROZEN on my WordPress page  
 
 
Line count: 37 lines
Form: Free Verse
Prompt: END your story or poem with this line, bolded:
The cold front finally moved through.
Include a campfire and a lost cat.
Written for:
 

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