A Couple of Small Poems for Monday
Cold Air
The morning air brushes past my face–
but it refuses to move on.
It stings as it begins to move through my
nose and mouth, past my tongue.
I exhale.
I move on.
Strong
Where goes the strong one?
Into eternity I would guess.
Blown back again, not so missed.
Maybe forgotten. One day remembered.
Walk away; the night will remember.
brad • 2 years ago
I like the first one. Poems that capture any particular moment with a unique observation are a lot of fun to read.