JANUARY 2009

by Sam Silva

Frosty wicked rain!, that pitter patter
of cold
silences which mock
in pain
a celebration of Hope
and disaster
in this odd southern soldier town
a day or two before Barak
Obamah might
sing to the stars
on the planet’s slope
on an evening similar with cold and night.
I will be what I am,
disturbed and old
and gazing dazed
as if with dope
toward streets that fill with frozen rain
and the headlights
of their passing cars….

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~ This piece was posted on Monday, January 26th, 2009 and was filed under Poetry, Writing. You can make comments on it below. ~