Cold

Poem: Cold

by Liam

Grey on grey the cold,

On the wave the white whipped

Froth blown crowns hold

Discontent, fly crying gulls

Flutter then huddle in rows

Beaks yellow, eyes beady roll

Cold holds this day in tight too

Fingers curled cold blue, sky

Feathers, each wanting flight

Need desperate to lift the dreary night

Towards the light of how and why we want warmth

Not of body, but soul

Full rich and song to penetrate

To emancipate the story of this life’s wrong.

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