Christmas doesn’t bring out the best in me

Cold wind blows
Clean and clear
Past a chimney
Clean of smoke
Whistles through
Cold bare hearth
Into a room
With a tree
Balls and icicles
Hang on limbs
Lights unlit
Dark are now
Underneath
A bare floor
Hopes unseen
Dreams to be
Father sits
Softy cries
For his children
Fast asleep
Morning comes
And hopeful eyes
To dark room
Empty and cold

Advertisements

Author: wakofoed

About me, ah well, I am a Poet, a singer, a drummer and photographer .

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s