Sketch

Cold. Stars. A breath you can see.  

Hills stand round the village like ignored guests

at a reception. The lines of the street fail ; they obey not.

The second ; the sleet forces my

face down to the wet path. It is nearly time.

The end. I return to a home that kicks me.

Cold. The stars ice. Midnight.

Reviews

[Chris]

I favor the beginning. It pointed me where I wanted to go. The mid point felt vague and underfinished. The end barely spoke. But that is just me... an opinion.

[Leslie Philibert]

A fair point. I like reviews that are honest. What I wanted to do was to write a very sparse, stripped down poem that just presents a few strong images, some obscure.
But to do that the imagery has to be very strong, which is probably not the case here. But I`ll be working at it ! Leslie

[Chris]

I'll look in again later...take care.

[Irfan Bashir Shah]

This poem nicely captures the intensity of the moment where we are just lost in introspection.... Everything is so clear yet so blurred....
Nicely done!