Frozen

 Frigidity doesn't describe

the gray dullness
either externally
or internally,
struck frozen
behind my dismal eyes.

Black soot and garbage
are the drifts that blanket
what was once pristine,
now frozen and ugly.

All that is frozen
much like my mood
complete with icicles
otherwise not knowing
where else to go.

I give up a dry laugh
imagining icicles,
hanging on the end of my nose.
Too frozen to talk
and yet I laugh.

I get the irony.

-Laurie Perrone
copyright 2024

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Me Institutionalized?

  When I was sent to the rubber room I had no idea  that the doctors and other staff wore straight jackets. Mind boggling as it is, they absolutely should be drawing their needles and  multi-colored pills upon my waking  in drab quarters  complete with a bathroom that has no locks. They think I will somehow  try to hurt myself behind locked doors like trying to  jam my finger down my throat  in efforts to choke  on  my own vomit. My meals don’t exactly consist of steak and eggs. Try green-tinted pizza,  and slimy spaghetti writhing in questionable watery tomato sauce. And the arts and crafts room? Oh, please don’t get me started! I’m a little too old for crayons and finger paints! I should have never revealed that I wanted to off myself like a dictator  such as the Queen of Hearts of my own life. It was never my life  to do such a thing, anyway. Now, I’m here, singing “poor me” to the resident psychiatrist about this shit ...
Read more

I Dream of Purple Skies Revised

I Dream of Purple Skies The Transition I enter the Dark Tunnel, but the coming Light is not a question; fear is a language I have already begun to forget. The darkness is merely a pause, shattered by pinnacles of brilliance— first in flashes, then in steady pulses of hope. I crawled through the decay of the last world, but here, I walk. I have no voice for the "in-between," that sacred transit where the soul is unmade and remade, focused only on the Forward. I see my hand, yet it is not the hand I knew. I am being guided Home, anchored by a trust that has finally outgrown the borders of my imagination. The Un-Night The "un-night" recedes as the flashes quicken. I move without feeling my way, for I am no longer walking; I am led. The Unknown has lost its teeth; Faith has fulfilled its promise. In this tunnel, transition is the ultimate freedom. I have waited a natural lifetime for these final steps, aware of a body that is no longer a burden, but a garment of light. ...
Read more

Condemned Building

  I kicked at the broken glass of words in the condemned building, where sonnets and poems were once written, where there were once books and notebooks of ideas, where there were once book shelves full of books  now  replaced by broken glass and broken  dreams once words birthed as ideas in the air. A generation of ideas put to paper and spoken to audiences- -everywhere- Shattered memories at my feet seen once as beauty. I ask myself why I’m here in this condemned building Where nothing can be resurrected but fleeting memories of what once was. On the floor now as broken words from a time long ago. What I thought of as a golden calf cannot prosper  as that idea is dead and broken like the glass of the condemned building. I see past it where true life lives in real living breathing words that cannot die. Words that forgive and see past my own folly of false idols and false beliefs Never to be believed at all. -Laurie Perrone Copyright 2024
Read more