Holding close, to a gurgling flow,
Pickerel burbling, in a near below.
Look at disruption out upon the ice,
There was corruption, and fight for a life.
Category: Margins
Random Writing
The Cold Lakes
The cold lakes know alignment.
Rush of water to your lungs.
Few seconds of refinement,
Did you hear a few war drums?
Why Bloom?
Do you have the tenacity,
To grow through the else?
Will you fight an insanity,
Survive freeze and melt?
Winter’s last
WINTER?
Has visited this runway with many dresses.
The?meanest,
The?furthest,
The?definitive,
Some?terminal,
And?climactic,
The?bitter end,
And?with curtains.
Maybe this is the?last swan song?
I drove at the moon
I drove at the moon from Nolalu,
It was large and red, but my phone can?t show you!
It felt like being on a runway,
But it seemed like a tunnel.
Only a Northerner has these thoughts.
But I can share what imagination wrought.
The ceiling was black with specks of light, that could take you away at a moment.
But, the trees and snow bring you back to the earth and act as a strong opponent.
Heading home to the top of the lake at night while glancing at the sky.
One wonders darkly if ice or beast will set the spirit awry.
Now and then the land opens up,
Or the clouds reveal the stars.
It?s in those moments one could take off,
If not stuck sitting in a car.
The moon is close when you live in the North, especially late at night.
When the travels done, and your safe at home, there is comfort in your life.
Still after you leave that treacherous breath,
There is something enslaving about that view.
It happens in those peaceful moments,
When driving from Nolalu.