It's sad-
sometimes-
when the cold winds
come to stay.
Black birds fly in packs-
dance and swoop-
almost in rhythmn.
Sad when you think
the light of love is dimming.
Sad like weeping violas
in the bouree that
excites me-
when the sounds
slide into an almost perfect mood.
Sadder still with
the fast approaching holidays.
Lights strung up-
festive warm colours-
reflections of the past,
flickering a niceness and sweetness.

Sad to think I cannot share my expression.
sad to feel you don't want to see
and
sad to see you don't want to feel
my art,
my creativity of thought,
My hands tremble at this reality.
Winters long white fingers
are stretching-
trying to clasp and wrap around
this city.
I want your presence
of thought,
of connectiveness,
of specialness.
We are amazing people.
Sad that I do not feel this
with you
in this moment.

The skys turned an almost black tinged blue.
Melancholy seeps and bursts into a crescendo.
Your icy glare
reflecting the warm lights-
this picture
is somehow not right.
- prelude to my liberation -

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Copyright©2017-1999 by Rebecca R. Hammack

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