He promised winter it could stay

I've always been fascinated with the fact Solomon asked for wisdom. Not gold or riches, or women or strength or beauty, but wisdom.

He promised winter it could stay

Inside his bones

In his rest

A brittle flower on his conscience 

Unwilling to sprout 

Hesitant to tower over his will

He loved his little flower

Though he'd been scorned

So cold it burned his blood

It was okay, in his infinity

The darkness was his cradle

The ice, a fading visage

Of something once his

Replaced? 
Destroyed? 
He did not care to know

Since he promised winter it could stay

Author's Note

Thoughts? Interpretations?

Reviews

[Vishuddha]

What a beautiful poem! So frigid, frightening. What might have once been love turned cold, and numb, unyielding, unfeeling. A shiver down my spine. Put more logs on the fire and keep writing.