My First Real Winter
The rain beat down in double time
In comparison to the metronome like drip
Of droplets in stainless steel pans
Smoke casts shadows over lined paper
Ash falls like snow flakes, settling gently
Elegies scratched deep into the table surface
Remind us of times lesser alone
Torn between a warm bed and warmer drinks
Regrets get sweeped to the back of the mind
There's no time for second guessing
Once the deed has been done
Let's pray that July holds something brighter
In it's bleak atmosphere
The dotted lines of city lights remain unchanged
A point of view that's missing the point
We always miss the point
* Benjamin Blake was born in the winter of 1985 to an English father and a young woman a score his junior. He currently lives in a darkened basement which leaks when it rains and is also home to a large black rat and several mice. His poems have appeared on Danse Macabre and Snakeskin Poetry webzine. His handwriting is near illegible to anyone but himself. You can write to him at benjaminblakeyrtw@gmail.com
