Winter evening.

The sky, colourless
Not a sound to be heard
His senses give no reason.

Winter evening
He try’s to speak
Finds his vocabulary exhausted
The sense of loneliness
Cannot be defined.

Winter evening
Far off rolling hills
Shadowed by swirling fog
Birds on a wing, silent
His heart filled with darkness
Bewildered
He wonders, what will the heavens send.

Winter evening
Thinking now in fragmentations
Of paradise lost.
Affairs of the heart
Bring only frustration
Suffering, conveyed by poetry.
(c) Chris Black. January 2018.

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