Silver sickles fall like rain,
Causing damage, so much pain.
Peering through a frosty window,
I hold my tongue to thoughts…
.يعفيه (Relieve me…)
Men lay restful tucked in coffers.
Their eyes like clay,
The time has coeme,
To accept to forget truculent orders.
Silver sickles, decide to subside,
I pick one up on my way outside,
I grip the melting dagger
So cold and so shrill,
Looks can kill, but memories never die.
Slip into my pocket just for the thrill,
Silver sickle follow me,
Meddlesome or company we shall see.
Silver sickles guide me,
Like the tips of snow angel’s graceful fingers.
The end of the drive.
Snow so sweet, the taste so alive.
It screams, “Take me out!”
My pocket is damp,
Silver sickle decided to melt.
Frozen tears from the run inside.
Blue wool mittens,
Woven from the touch of age.
I wipe the frost that has built up from a leak in the window,
Silver sickles confine me in a frozen cage.
Maybe so I never get hurt like I did before.
These blue mittens hugged the hands of someone I loved,
Who isn’t living anymore.