Ben Jacobson - November

The month of November crept up ever so slowly. The summer seemed to last for an eternity, rain became a stranger. But now everything around me is either dead or dieing; November is a suitable month for dieing. Trees appear black and frozen, the ground is hard and cold, the snow is dirty, it’s now winters turn. The morning wind forever blows; the winds sweep over the tops of houses, rattling their foundations. The day and night have become indistinguishable; both are subdued by shades of grey. Warmth will, no doubt make a considerable difference to my hands and feet. Still I feel naked in the dark, as my bones continue to shiver. But like the dead I lie silent, upon the cold wet grass I open my lips to the frosty morn, I sigh, exhaling a short tentative breath. I then look up at the moon as she attempts all be it unsuccessfully, to prise herself out from behind the grid locked highway of clouds that stand ominously in her way. My thoughts have now turned to dreams of heaven, where the suns burning rays brightly light the shadows that can blind men to the truth, so it’s best to be silent, because, grandeur must sometimes be abandoned in order to be appreciated. The Clarity of summer has an enduring presence in my mind, I dream of walking through it’s bright landscapes, filled with beautiful colours. But for now I shall reside amongst winter’s fitful slumber.

Ben Jacobson

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/november-16/