Thursday, January 22, 2009

Like a blue-white witch
She blows icy syrup
And everything is cold and brittle.
You cannot hug or even touch
Because you will break.
The quiet is all that keeps the peace.
Any noise would shatter the still moment
Into three thousand shards of shivery points.
It is a vulnerable royal fortress
Held fast only by the silent moment
Of temporary permission.
You must go
Or you will also be a blue temporary thought
Untethered by change.


sweetmango said...

I love this, beautifully descriptive.

Loving Annie said...

That was beautiful, Tabor. So descriptive - really captured the eesence of the cold and the quiet and the enchantment and the danger all at once.

One Woman's Journey said...

A beautiful poem. You are one talented lady.

Tabor said...

While I know I am not a great talent it does warm my heart to get such accolades by such good bloggers.