White Balm

Snow swept aside our troubles that December.
Troubles had turned the already drab landscape
charcoal gray, mounds of difficult hardness as
seen through weary eyes, the woe begotten
world before the cold, white precipitation
masked it with its flocculent blanket…
persistent troubles, littering life
with trash-heap gall…

…so snow, like a broom
with clean bristles to clear
the walk of life for a time, so
the winter solstice could be clear
of hardships, (teary-eyed woes) worn
like threadbare suits by mannequins whose
hearts were barley beating, any green Christmas
wending its way with thoughts of getting through,
covering cold the pathetic tree-freed leaves
polluting everywhere and anywhere, that
lap of soothe succumbed to the freeze
miles high in an air mixing breathable,
or of salt made palatable by bleach,
or of cold cover granted by gods
too busy to notice any goings
on by us too self-absorbed
to care a dime’s worth.


25 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
12-11-19