An old journal post poem prose… enjoy.
There’s a coldness welling up inside me. It’s in the back, rather quieted, but sneaking like Gollum. Sneaking. Like smokey splinters up my spine.
I remember staring at this shadow before.
I danced as it waited, side to side…
a bobbing shadow.
I see thinly veiled cruelty at all the hope in place.
The coldness hates the hope.
The coldness is highly annoyed by hope’s shiny brightness,
at her warm effervescence.
he coldness is sneaking,
trying to catch hope unawares.
The problem is that hope shines so bright that the coldness can’t jump out from behind any shadows.
