Poetry

Under a wintry sky

I wrangle words into art.

These words slip and falter,

Sometimes they even shatter

As vases to my heart.

Working under cold and bareness

I stich together some sort of meaning.

Other times I just sit,

Coaxing my brain to finagle one more piece.

It doesn’t always end well,

But I continue to ponder deeply

As my mind is an ocean,

And I a mere diver to its depths.

Finding the pearl is difficult,

But I surface, bringing it to the chilly air.

And it again becomes words,

Typed onto an online page.

 

© 2017 Valerie Hathaway

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