My Poetry
Again, This 
Aois Dana 
A Bag of Spring
For A Wedding
Little Brother
Ostara - Mist and Wings
Rainy Day
Some Murdering Secret
Sun and Rain
What Comes of Wings
Again, This Winter
    November can be one of those months when everything just falls apart. I do that sometimes. One night, I wrote this instead of doing my homework; I was that miserable.
And I curled my fingers into claws
The better to rip you with, my dear
For my soul is the tatters left behind
Without sunlight to mend up the rents
And bleeding, oh anguish, oh rage
I am freezing to death kissing you.

I smashed a stick found in the woods
Straight through the window of civility
And cut myself on the shards of despair
Scattered by my misery around me
Slashing the earth even as they bit me
And spattered the blood about in Maenad dance

Half mad, I am some half-formed thing
Come straight out of nightmare
To terrorize those things that are so light,
So pure they've never seen a soul shred
Where I bleed, where the earth rips, I leave Things
Shreds of facade given life by my fierce scream

A creature, clad in tatters of dead joy,
Bleeding the red of the holly berries
And crowned with their spiky leaves
By the light of the sun's mirror,
I am running through the frosts of winter
Failing my search for the sun himself

When did my strength fail?
Seeing the sun die, year after year
This is nothing new and yet
Every winter, I find myself here
Near frozen, full bleeding for lack of a fire,
Cringing but still thirsting for a taste of magic.

© Anne Cross, 1997

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Created: November 20, 1997
Last updated: March 19, 1998