Midwinter

Version 3 – the final one: Changes to wording (italics) and increase in alliteration and assonance (bold) – some of these changes also occurred between versions 1 & 2, but WordPress doesn’t allow me to colour code in this format. Some also occur mid-word like the “T” in “task untouched”, or crosses verses. Verse 3 – “a trail..” was almost totally rewritten in two different sessions, and a few other lines went back and forth as I changed things around, words appearing then taken back as other words made the original better again.

Emotions wear no warmth.
Heart and mind march downhill to midwinter.

Coffee left still, outside overnight.
Living is acrid, cold, something to be
Flushed away at first light,
A task untouched when we had time,
Untold tale of midwinter.

A trail of cups is cast behind, moving on,
Plans promised, deficient or defective,
Words not sung, vows not voiced,
Love too late disclosed, lost,
Lying banked against midwinter.

All our springs flanked by forward planning,
Dreaming times, driving futures.
Where will we go? What shall we become?
Not a child, not tween nor teen,
Bouquets have blown over midwinter.
 
Summers overblown with business,
Decisive busyness, and deeds
Done to rationalise their doing.
Careers and cares and children,
Celebrating Christmas in midwinter.

Autumn awaiting, reliving recollections,
Filing away our photos. 
Browsing books replaces reading,
Postponing for the perfect portent, 
Bolting away blind, anticipating midwinter.

Tears are easy to find, eyes fill
When you are not watching.
Companions constant half a century,
Or clear yet complete though young in years,
Arrive and abscond, stall, and still, in midwinter.

Meals to fill the freezer, camouflaging confused chatter:
“My rabbit died suddenly; God needed another angel.
There’s a new star in the sky tonight.”
Friends who love quietly linger and abide, 
Always present, allies against midwinter.

Tears are easy to find, spent when unforeseen.
No one knows what words to voice,
Pain pulls us in and pummels us,
Hemmed in and gathered by grief.
Gap-gutted, we fear midwinter.

Why don’t the tears now attend,
To shield us when we suffer?
When they do,
They freeze our hearts,
Funnelling down to midwinter.