When I write
every word is like
a finely crafted feather
particles of a winged voice
To uplift imagination
poor soothe upon torment
A flight path
mind’s destination to dream
picture perfect characters
who they are
where they belong
where you fit in
Nestled tight
keep out cold
turn against the winds of ice
water falling crashing calling
the feather nestled tight
let your imagination take flight
with these words I write
© Kait King, 2015
Thunder claps slap me in my stomach and heart
the sound so loud I can feel it’s power to my core
the rain is disjointed, fragmented and like nails
brittle, metallic, piercing upon my tin roof
cold drapes her cape and darkness is too early
Winters’ chilly breathe clings to me and all else
with crispy grass and black icy roads
time hibernates,
in a torpor while waiting for
the kick-start of Spring
Iron grey afternoons, misty mornings and
chilly bedsheets
embrace every day with a choking chilliness
a resistant prisoner I will wait
as a hibernating bear or a frozen tundra
stillness and a rigor about me will be chipped away
with every day of Spring
as I am hurtled with a kick-start
back into a living thing
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