Dream Time Poetry

Winter lays an icy hand

on my “forever more”

and freezes expectation

behind a polar fleece jacket

because today there is no sun

and the cold nestles in

beyond the barrier

thought impassable.

The mindless cold of endings

like a power hungry fiend

taxes internal energy

until nothing left to keep

for when I need to sleep

away from the grief.

Though endings be beginnings

and change a mere re-charge

the battery of soul

works half-pace in the cold

and splutters like a tearful child

implanted in the old.

Oh, it’s a small, small, thing;

no one would think it’s anything

except a woman just like me

who values continuity!

Other Poems by Helen

• The deal
• Everybody’s Garden
• What is love?
• I think, you think
• Down the line