TUG OF WAR WITH WINTER

TUG OF WAR WITH WINTER

Like a fisherman well seasoned
on the iceberg of your heart,

I stand in the shallow waters,
with my world all blown apart.

The bitter waves creep through me
of tangled, acrid words.

A fog horn in the distance, a flock of angry birds.

Lightning crashes empty nets
and thunder issues warning.

My breast stroke flails against the tide,
lost in grief and mourning.

The ocean dark and poisonous,
the glaciers sharp as thumb tacks.

The lighthouse on the hill stands dark,
the ship’s hull has a crack.

The wind as violent as a banshee
shakes my loose foundation.

I tremble with the bullet holes
of brittle devastation.

The sailor who I trusted is absent without leave
and I am stranded in the foam,
lonely and bereaved.

I stand without an overcoat,
as the shoreline starts to splinter,

Barefoot on the frosty ground,
playing tug of war with winter.

-BRUCE POTTS
COPYRIGHT 2008
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED