(Edit: Change of title)


We gather,
Alone -
Everybody gathers,
Under the naked moon,
Pathetic,
Drunken,
Beaten and
Wilted.
Humbly arched low,
Our heads droop and sway to the
Beat of the snowfall -
Gentle
And constant...
Steady and assured on
These winter streets as
We brush past shop entrances
Finding comfort in occasional
Glimpses of artificial heat.
In the distance,
Gloved, hooded mosquitoes –
Sucked into the neon:
Pathetic,
Drunken,
Beaten.
Pale as the moon.

The thin, old man…
Yellow-eyed,
Cold-blooded,
Peeling the ice from his eyelashes.
Unforgiving of all this.
Accepting all this.
Fragile, newspaper-like skin
Soaking into his bones.
He hugs his arms tighter
And is warm,
(Briefly)
Beaten,
Unforgiving, but accepting.
Pining,
Like the yellowing,
Dead Christmas trees
Who laugh, arms open -
Awaiting.

Two lovers, arm in arm,
His lips, dry like ice
Melting against her face,
Eyes locked,
Waltzing, on
These winter streets.
Though, on second glance –
Perfectly still -
But part of something.
The exception.
They are the loved,
They are the fortunate,
They are the axis and
The world spins on their tilt

But still -
We gather,
Alone -
Everybody gathers,
Hearts as dirty as puddles
Under the naked moon.
The naked moon –
Stained with coffee…
Warm,
Dizzy,
Drunk and
Beaten it
Steals our eyes.
Ghosts of cloud pass over,
Trying to Inject,
To puncture
Through it’s face – our faces.
It gasps, spits and
Coughs its winter breath,
Fighting (courageously),
And locks eyes with us…

And
(Briefly),
…A part of something.
We are the loved,
We are Gasping,
Spitting,
Coughing,
Fighting, and
Spinning - against the axis,

Together,

Unaware, but
Not
Alone.

I could probably get lost in this one for a long time....

Pondering, meandering, breathing it in.

and out, and in (Briefly), and out again.


It flows very nicely too.

I don't know how you do it iceage, you blow my mind. You just get better everytime i read. I absolutely love the way you use such everyday language, and yet manage to convey this breathtaking imagery... i mean:

Our heads droop and sway to the
Beat of the snowfall -

The thin, old man…
Yellow-eyed,
Cold-blooded,
Peeling the ice from his eyelashes.

It gasps, spits and
Coughs its winter breath,
Fighting (courageously),
And locks eyes with us…

Plus the entire last stanza...i mean fuck it, i'm fighting the urge to just copy and paste the entire poem on here! It's really beautiful, you're one of these rare people that can illustrate something perfectly and beautifully using really surprising choices of words...I don't know how you do it, but please, please please please, continue! I really look forward to seeing your name on threads here! Thanks for sharing!

Thanks so much for reading it, and, if that wasn't enough - for the very kind compliments.

It can be very draining putting these things together, so it's so rewarding to get feedback or appreciation...i'm incredibly grateful.

Agreed. I love his work. If I had the energy I'd write something insightful, but as I have been spinning against the axis these past 5 days and the future looks just as grim, I'll tag along your comments.

I want to quote the whole poem too. i don't have a favorite part.

.

Good work. A lot jumps out at me such as the above.