aging · creativity · poetry · writing

Frost Bitten

Gnarly, these withered limbs,
this vessel more rigidity than flow,
winter upon me, a permanent clouding,
sunnier days passed – oh how vivid
the imagination when blue skies
met green grass, no hindrances

Old dreams hover, tethered to fences –
defences to camouflage vulnerability,
offences to keep my paths cleared

Find balance in isolation –
an old tree, past her prime –

Would cut loose this precarious
hold on all things fantastical,
but fear the act a harbinger –

So, I bide my days in this
frigid limbo, and hold on.

(Today’s poem is inspired by the image from Willow Poetry’s challenge:  What Do You See?  I am also linking up to dVerse’s pub night, where Sarah is hosting with the prompt: harbinger.  Ragtag Community provided balance, and Fandango’s word is tree.)