Author: Rick Ryckman
The cold winds are whipping savagely.
My dreams cannot withstand the violence and fury.
The phantom footprints have been woven through time.
Sounding loudly across my frozen domain.
The beast is running in-between my racing heartbeats.
In the darkness the chains of time cannot be broken.
Comments on this poem/writing:
|frances (18.104.22.168) -- Wednesday, January 24 2007, 11:36 pm|
this one is hard for me,seems that it is hard to let go of past thoughts
|Rick Ryckman (22.214.171.124) -- Thursday, January 25 2007, 02:08 am|
With the ice storm over the last week or so.
At least I could come in the house and turn on the heat.
But in my youth when we had no heat in the house.
My brother and I would take my fathers ax ---- and walk across the barren wilderness
of Lake Erie
till we came upon the railroad and would chop up the tides,
pile them up on the sled and drag them home because it was the only heat
we would feel for the rest of the year.
Yes I remember the house at 186 Efner Street ----foundly from my youth.
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