Spots On the Sun

I stand in the sun but the warmth moves away 
leaves me in blank spots
I seem to only curl up in the places the light shies away from
and keeping warm is now a phantom
a wishing, a memory
my soul shivers and as my hands touch the mirror 
I watch my pale face frost over
wavery and indistinct
I bundle into all the wool and down I can carry with me
but it soon catches the cold and holds it
damply against my chest and seeping into my feet
the heat promised crawls away
I press my cheeks against the walls and think
I am like an old stove long emptied of wood or paper which now stands silently
chilled and weeping rust
There are spots on the sun and I live in those
a captive to the shadow
a stunted pale green shoot
curling away from the cold and into myself
and dreaming of the sunshine
of crackling sparks
and bricks made warm in the light…

About chimerapoet

I write. I write a lot. A. LOT. There are times I am half blind with a sentence ricocheting off the walls of my stupid, cant be shut off to save my life, brain. I am miserable until I get it down on paper. Punch it up a bit. Usually cross out half of it. And then breathe. Relax. Only to do it all again..... But I just thought that was me. How I am. Not a writer....noooo...not me. Writers are.....writing people. People Who Write. REALLY write. Write things that matter. All grown up very important things. I am just a scribbler of sorts. And I was/am content with that....if it's true, well then....a scribbler am I. Until the thought wormed its way in to my brain (the furtive sneaky bitch) that maybe...just maybe...that is writing. My style. My strange way. But....still writing. So here I am at the dance. Not sure I know any of the moves and the music is entirely mine. But.....only one way to find out. Would you care to join me?
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3 Responses to Spots On the Sun

  1. beautiful. simply beautiful….

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