It's been years since I've written any poetry, even longer since I wrote anything that was raw, aching, coming from a part of me that was broken and needed mending. Thankfully, age has given me a small measure of wisdom and perspective, but apparently, it hasn't quite killed my occasional need to express myself in an artistic manner. I don't know if this will suck or if people will like it. I just ask that you be honest. I went into this thinking there was at least a 50% chance that it would suck, so if it does, be honest, but don't be cruel. So, without further ado, here it is.
Sweet November, month of bitter pain,
Singing softly its pretty, sad song
Of life, death, and lightness of heart.
I feel the cold seep deep in my bones,
That beautiful aching splintered bite,
That brings freedom to this tired old soul.
A chill that promises scents of cloves,
And simmering good scents in the air,
Of pecans, dill, sweet potato, and tarts.
The cold that brings a hope of new life,
That chills the water, safely keeps me,
Protects my hearth, my family whole.