David Wilcock
01-06-2006, 09:08 PM
hey guys,
in the process of moving - yes, i'm finally going through all my papers and
getting rid of stuff i don't need - i came across a poem i wrote when i was
16 years old. i was thinking about what it would be like to fight the bitter
cold snow in the morning when i was an adult, with a car, hopefully in a
happy relationship, et cetera. i did not drink coffee at the time but
imagined here i'd be hooked. the last verse in particular shows my attempts
to process all the abuse i was going through at the time from both parents.
i will resist the temptation of editing any of it... this is exactly how it
was written except for a very few tweaks in punctuation. it's kind of
romantic to write this up now that i live in the south and we rarely ever
see snow... and besides this is a lot shorter than my other recent
self-disclosure rants...
morning snowfall
cold, wintry morning;
boughs of trees coated, a crystalline shine,
icicles reach down from rooftop -
nine layers of blankets surrounding us.
frozen world, white and harsh;
anxiety, perhaps disgust,
material matters bother the mind;
shoveling, and the drive to work.
within the house, the climate swells -
warm air protects naked skin.
satin envelops, soft and smooth,
and you, the most wonderful of all.
stretch and moan; seven already?
sleep, a foggy deterrent;
warm bed beckons tired souls;
willpower stands and walks away.
every window a masterpiece,
frozen scenes of snowy wonder,
shower curtain icy cold,
but nothing like the winter.
shower on - the shot of cold
not expected; screaming!
remembrance burns in, to
never repeat this action.
mist and steam; breathing water.
mind wanders to day's toil;
season brings beauty,
but with it comes anguish.
pry open eyes at breakfast,
coffee, the bringer of wakefulness;
eggs, toast and butter,
something to laugh at compared to outside.
door slams; wind chews into face,
driveway coated with abomination.
disgusted muscles start to flex;
shaving the gravel like a mouse-sized barber.
black increases; white removed,
scratchy steel on coarse rubble,
fingers ache, calluses grow,
shoulder threatens mutiny.
gripping the garage door,
task completed - for now.
with a crack, the ice's grip is lost;
a rumble, and plume of warm air.
the machine howls; coldness takes its toll.
key is twisted without response.
automobile becomes like a child;
yelled at until compliance is forced.
peace be with you -
- david
in the process of moving - yes, i'm finally going through all my papers and
getting rid of stuff i don't need - i came across a poem i wrote when i was
16 years old. i was thinking about what it would be like to fight the bitter
cold snow in the morning when i was an adult, with a car, hopefully in a
happy relationship, et cetera. i did not drink coffee at the time but
imagined here i'd be hooked. the last verse in particular shows my attempts
to process all the abuse i was going through at the time from both parents.
i will resist the temptation of editing any of it... this is exactly how it
was written except for a very few tweaks in punctuation. it's kind of
romantic to write this up now that i live in the south and we rarely ever
see snow... and besides this is a lot shorter than my other recent
self-disclosure rants...
morning snowfall
cold, wintry morning;
boughs of trees coated, a crystalline shine,
icicles reach down from rooftop -
nine layers of blankets surrounding us.
frozen world, white and harsh;
anxiety, perhaps disgust,
material matters bother the mind;
shoveling, and the drive to work.
within the house, the climate swells -
warm air protects naked skin.
satin envelops, soft and smooth,
and you, the most wonderful of all.
stretch and moan; seven already?
sleep, a foggy deterrent;
warm bed beckons tired souls;
willpower stands and walks away.
every window a masterpiece,
frozen scenes of snowy wonder,
shower curtain icy cold,
but nothing like the winter.
shower on - the shot of cold
not expected; screaming!
remembrance burns in, to
never repeat this action.
mist and steam; breathing water.
mind wanders to day's toil;
season brings beauty,
but with it comes anguish.
pry open eyes at breakfast,
coffee, the bringer of wakefulness;
eggs, toast and butter,
something to laugh at compared to outside.
door slams; wind chews into face,
driveway coated with abomination.
disgusted muscles start to flex;
shaving the gravel like a mouse-sized barber.
black increases; white removed,
scratchy steel on coarse rubble,
fingers ache, calluses grow,
shoulder threatens mutiny.
gripping the garage door,
task completed - for now.
with a crack, the ice's grip is lost;
a rumble, and plume of warm air.
the machine howls; coldness takes its toll.
key is twisted without response.
automobile becomes like a child;
yelled at until compliance is forced.
peace be with you -
- david