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Click hereCold Footsteps
The cold wind whirls around me,
Hood up, head down, I concentrate on
The footsteps I must take. The snow
Is falling softly. The path I walk on is white
And black. Footprints have crushed
The virgin snow into dark exotic patterns.
The patterns of people.
Large, long strided steps have trod here,
Leaving their Doc Martin imprints; they look purposeful,
Penetrating the snow into deep crevices.
Small steps have walked here too. Their impact
Gentler, almost not there, but bold. No pattern to them but the outline.
The difference is stark, bald, shocking.
I see these people walking
In the opposite direction to me.
My footprints are behind me. I know
That I too will leave my imprint in the snow
For all to see. At the end of the path I look back,
Trying to get a glimpse of my tracks and
My footsteps are there but I do not recognise or understand them;
They are conjoined with the patterns of others
And the still, soft falling snow.
But I go on,
My cold footsteps following.
This poem was mentioned in the Archival Review thread, in a picking through Lit's archive of over 35,000 poems.
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Such lovely imagery creates provoking images in the mind. Thanks for the read :D
Nicely demonstrates the path we all follow throughout the bustle of our busy lives and how the tranquility of nature becomes marked by the evidence of our precipitated and purposeful steps.
I never looked at footprints in quite that way. Thanks for the journey. ~Imp
This is a powerful poem. We are always leaving something of ourselves behind and yet our footprints, whether it is in the snow or making an impact elsewhere, will inevitably melt away....
~Honey
and moody, with an enveloping chill throughout. Shivery. Well done. Thanks, LJ.
when people describe anything to do with snow. I also love how you ponder your own footsteps. Very nice indeed.