Cold Fingers

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: September 29, 2018

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Submitted: September 29, 2018

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She holds the lamppost like she is holding the sun.

Though the wind sways with her, she holds it high and deep

Her eyes melt and her hair burns

Oh, fingers cold as oceans

This is how she falls asleep

 

Persephone’s winter is almost at its end.

The air is still and starts to seep

beneath the her skin and heavy legs.

Oh, fingers cold as steel

This is how she falls asleep

 

Like a statue that can tremble

and is shaped from unmade clay.

Cracked, her soul exposed to reap.

The light behind the glass has stolen

from her bright eyes.

Starless, she stares at the skies

This is how she falls asleep

Oh, this is how she dies

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Bridget Bill. All rights reserved.

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