Warm Enough For Snow

The sky was as grey and as low
And as empty as my heart
So I took my soul out walking
Past the seesaw of my confidence
And the sleeping sloth of ambition
Across the thin ice of my feelings
And the frozen pathways of lost love.
And my soul turned to me and said:
‘Why do you feel this way?
Could it be that photo of an ex-love you had to return
Because you couldn’t have a print of him with his arms
Round you, sighing in the bottom of a drawer?
Couldn’t look at his face without remembering…?
Or is it that you share a bed with a man you don’t love
And who, like a gentleman, returns the favour?’
Facing the chill December air
I notice the sky’s hanging as heavy as self-realisation.
‘You’re the soul, you do the searching,’ I said.
‘Because I don’t seem to know.
But out here it’s cold enough for melancholy
And warm enough for snow.’

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