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November 27, 2023
"Mes de los Muertos"

Winter of Days

By Ken Allan Dronsfield

Winter of Days

Vermilion tears stain unblown dust,
acquiesced moment of life's ending.
Hallucinated dreams of flying in space,
hoist a mug to those who rode the fire.
Memories jostling in a hazy foggy mist;
wondrous thoughts of questionable lore.
Melancholy taint in the winter of my days;
gifted choices still remain in a full denial.
Kneel before the flickering flames of gold;
soft whispers echo upon the cellar walls.
As Lucifer pursues begging for our souls
dodging his temptations we run on home.
Dad's wash cars with rain clouds showing
Mom calls him stubborn giving him a kiss
catching turtles, we're told to release them
toting towels, crayons, paper and snacks,
we draw frogs and swim down at the pond.
After fall and Christmas, snowy days return
we start at the top and begin the long ride, our
toboggan finds a six foot drift burying us all
a long climb back up for another slide down
good old memories grasp my winter of days.

Article © Ken Allan Dronsfield. All rights reserved.
Published on 2018-05-28
Image(s) are public domain.
1 Reader Comments
Lori Triggs
09:46:42 PM
A great write, I get where your coming from, because my father was a pain in the ass and my mom is now that say she spanged my ankle and never got it fixed same with my eye.
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