- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Cold Hands
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Click hereAn hour here, an hour
there. The pennies ebb
like tides, but someone pays
or no one rides for free.
It doesn't matter anymore,
this pride of win or place
is all a show, all the depth
of void if you ask me.
Feel free,
I'm not annoyed.
No more of that. I'm only tired
of the silent spaces whispered
in between the beat of busy days
when I remember laughing years
and masks of smiles that covered
tears for what we knew was real,
but gave no voice.
So fine, I made my choice,
and I know yours. You'd
watch me fall, you
wouldn't lift me up.
It's comfortable in your big house.
My jewels tarnish in your account.
What did 30 years amount to anyway?
The other best friend cleans the rooms
while you assume that all is right:
your sins dance on a pinpoint,
mine fill hell.
I wonder if you ever feel
the winter swell inside
your busy, empty palms.
- COMMENTS
darthjserover 16 years agoPainful yet isn't that what many of us see happen in life? It is something we learn from our own mistakes and others, not to get into those pitholes and witness the smile of a friend turn cold, so cold.
LeBrozalmost 17 years agoThis poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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LeBrozabout 17 years agoI wonder what it is about the winter that brings out such depressing writes in poets.
dcpoet44over 18 years agobut well worth the read. love this stanza:
The other best friend cleans the rooms
while you assume that all is right:
your sins dance on a pinpoint,
mine fill hell.
nicely done......don
