The cold has come. It presses down on my covers
and haunts my sleep. I dream of Greenland
and of finding meteorites that melt deep holes in the snow.
The northern lights are dancing.
The cold has come. There is rain inside my window
weeping down the pane. My eyes are summer glass
and he is deep winter so I understand the condensation
because I have felt it, too.
The cold has come. If my heart were a bird
it would flutter red against snowdrifts in crippled
useless motions, too broken to fly. Small things die easily
when harshly exposed.
I don't think this is literally about the cold. The cold is a feeling, maybe the worst of feelings, something that creeps in and like he says presses upon you when your most vulnerable. The cold can be your worst nightmare, it could be the truth, a form of guilt, something of that sort. The eyes being a summer glass i feel means the inability to control the way you react, you cannot help the condensation, your reaction is natural and expected, its the way, the only you can react to that emotion be it regret, guilt, maybe even truth. The rain weeping inside the window something unusual simply might mean that it's penetrating at a different level. The last bit was my favorite part. When comparing your heart to a bird crippled, and how small things die easily. It might mean you giving in, loosing hope, the inability to hold on. You allow the cold to come in.
At least that's what i thought it mean. Good read, i enjoyed this.
Some good writing right there. I know exactly what you mean. I can say it's really cold here as the weather is very strange right now. When it rains it's warm almost too warm and when the sky is clear it's cold as stone. I know that feeling though...
Submission Name: Cold
