1 – where the way out

IN the cold, cold days, when the sun stands still, 
 When we've noised and drank and ate our fill, 
 Then the flat time comes, and the small sounds grow 
 Into more than we could have expected, or know. 

In the silence lost, in the drifts misplaced, 
 Where the way in is shut, where the way out is laced 
 With the poisons set out in the long ago 
 For whomever might trespass -- but, even so -- 

There's a time when we'll eat, be whatever the crumbs; 
 There's a a place every feeling's just one more that numbs -- 
 Though we cannot see where, and we do not know how, 
 There is more to this life than just what 

 We see now

Published by

Beleaguered Servant

Owen Servant is an online poet working in a style that's been described as "compulsive". In real life, he is an actuary, because being a poet wasn't unpopular enough.

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