A young child experiences the death of his cat. Trauma. |
Edited after the second poetry group critique. FROZEN The lost cat… a still and lifeless form, was an aching reminder of the biting cold of childhood. Once soft and delicate, black fur became frosty… then frigid. No longer comforting to a young child. Cloaked in icy cold, memory, too, froze. Terror took a stand. Like thin ice, innocence cracked. Sitting by the campfire… peering into the past, I urgently exclaim: It is not your fault… It is not your fault. My cold toes wiggle again. My thawing fingers grasp the twigs as they feed the fire. As the dam breaks… the frozen terror of a young child begins to melt. By the fire… again, I softly whisper. It is not your fault… It is not your fault. Copyright David Hoffmann © 2024 – All Rights Reserved FROZEN on my WordPress page Edited after the first poetry group critique. FROZEN The lost cat… a still and lifeless frozen memory, was an aching reminder of the biting cold of childhood. Once soft and delicate, black fur became frosty… then frozen. No longer comforting to a young child. Cloaked in icy cold, memory too, froze. Terror took a stand. Like thin ice, innocence cracked. Now, sitting by the campfire… peering into the past, I urgently exclaim: It is not your fault… It is not your fault. Whistling winds serenade the snap and crackle of glowing embers fleetingly fanning the flames. My chilly toes wiggle again with delight. My thawing fingers grasp the twigs as they feed the fire. Golden brown marshmallows bring smiles. Amber embers warm hearts. By the fire… again, I softly whisper. It is not your fault… It is not your fault. As the dam breaks… the frozen terror of a young child begins to melt. Copyright David Hoffmann © 2024 – All Rights Reserved FROZEN on my WordPress page Original version FROZEN The lost cat… a still and lifeless frozen memory, was an aching reminder of the bitter biting cold of childhood. Once soft and delicate black fur became frosty then frozen. No longer comforting to a young child. Cloaked in bitter icy cold memory too froze. Terror took a stand. Like thin ice, innocence cracked. Now we sit by the campfire. Gently looking into his eyes, I urgently exclaim: It is not your fault… it is not your fault. A whistling wind serenades the snap and crackle of glowing embers fleetingly fanning the flames. The once-frozen toes wiggle again with delight. The thawing throbbing fingers grasp the twigs as they feed the fire. Golden brown marshmallows bring smiles to our eyes. Amber glowing embers… warm our hearts. As we sit by the campfire… again, Gently looking into his eyes, I softly whisper; It is not your fault… it is not your fault. As the dam breaks… the frozen terror of a young child begins to melt. The cold front finally moved through. ~~David FROZEN on my WordPress page Line count: 37 lines Form: Free Verse Prompt: END your story or poem with this line, bolded: The cold front finally moved through. Include a campfire and a lost cat. Written for:
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