The bleak and blackened
coldburned winter trees
mirror the forlorn
and forgotten heart
of mine
which is in winter, too.
The brown and brittle
frost dried branches
break
and
fall to
the hard
& frozen ground.
A touch, a smile,
a caress could—
from her—
melt the ice
and bring the spring,
but all lies frozen
and dead in
this ninth circle
of hell.
© David L. Cooper/ January 1, 2014
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