Here is something I wrote back in December. Enjoy!
Splinters threaten my fingertips
and flames beg to feast upon
the pine trees that are stacked
like Lincoln Logs. Each log is etched
with carvings of pictures, notes,
and emotion. If my hand grazes
roughly against the lodging
I may be wounded. I may never
return and gaze on the amber
colors of wood and flames.
If I breathe too deeply, feeling
the pine scent tickle my nose,
I may have a reaction and the only
help would be evergreens and ivy.
But by kindling the flames
and wrapping myself in the warmth
my gaze sees that the beauty
may lay in the possibility.
No comments:
Post a Comment