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Colours Of February

written by: SamLDN


Her words hung to frost
in the Moon-White air.
There I fell,
steel-cold in their presence.
The allure of longing
a familiar solace
only February bring.

Her tongue empty,
bent to hiss all the shapes of
unripened promise
that burden green on a winter tree,
behind torch eyes
that bleed memories
down to the wick.

I could lend ear
never tire of our solitude.
Or how snow beds a home
where good deeds could not.

I yearn for the colourless sun,
where streets not blushed pink
from summers lick
but wind cuts brick grey
and windowpanes orange with laughter.

For in such black months
we birth anew,
flowers breathe colour
to dead roots
and the busy people
calm to a welcoming halt.



Welcome to the inner-most-workings of an East London born poet. Here you'll find an amalgamation of all my poems, short stories and everything else in between. If easily offended, I suggest you kindly scarper while you have the chance – as the creative works you are about to indulge were conceived in a dystopian lab and are not for those raised on a cotton-wool diet. Nah, I kid – it's all age friendly so your grandma needn't worry. Enjoy – at your own peril.

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