It isn’t loneliness we feel  

But more of that frigid cold

In that formless hollowness

That’s adhered to our souls  

Even as we sit before a fire

Snaps, crackles, and pops!

In a prismatic-colored dance

Our cloak of worries slide off

Lured into a momentary trance

Escaping all the woes of strife

Laying down our guard a bit

As we sip- on brandy or wine

Having an internal dialogue

About still feeling… half froze


Poet of the Light © 2023


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