Windchill

by ddavidd   Dec 27, 2018


Windchill is howling in my veins,
as on the windows of these trains.
It seems nothing would ever warm these tubes
huddled with frozen eye cubes.
It seems nothing could ever melt and mold
to a drop of rain.
These icicles would never shed tears.
Souls are trapped
between these glowers of iron spears,
between these jagged jaws of fears.

These trains oscillating
between stations
between there and here
breathing like an accordion,
according the distance of far
an near.

These trains are up to nowhere.
There are no up and down in the stares
within the grips of these snares.

Inchmeal the feeling
grows in you stronger and stronger
that the promise land, either has never been
or isn't there any longer,

that this vacuum of whirling voids
like winds groan and moan
in these tunnels
with such grinding tone
like we are just pendulums of our own
some crucified flesh
on the cross of our bones.

These tickets are feigned;
there are no end
have been ever attained,
no real destination
has ever been gained.
These trains are only to keep us going.
Nothing ever is as it is showing.
and no grains of hope in this barren field
ever would be glowing.

These tracks are parallel to each other
as to the destination shown.
Here, there are no maps
but the fresh paint of pains
in the blueprint of our bones.

These wafts are to nowhere blown
we're here
suffering together,
all alone.

    report violation
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Latest Comments

  • 5 years ago

    by Poet on the Piano

    I'm not sure why this piece made me emotional. Maybe because of how unnerving it is to read, how impending that loneliness is, how inevitable that pain in our souls.

    That being said, this was one or my favorites from you and possibly one of the strongest I've read in a bit. You not only created an atmosphere but left me wondering how it is possible to feel so utterly alone, when often, we are merely surviving together. We are all riding out the pain somehow, in different ways.

    That idea of a destination leading nowhere. This whole poem made me think of that which we strive toward and walk toward, but we never truly can grasp or guarantee what's ahead.

    "that the promise land, either has never been
    or isn't there any longer,"

    - Whether spiritual or not, I interpreted "promise land" as applying to all of society as some kind of haven from our fears and insecurities. Perhaps a paradise to some, the religious, or an escape to others.

    "that these vacuum of whirling voids"

    - I thought "this" would sound better than "these" here because vacuum is singular.

    "like we are just pendulums of our own
    some crucified flesh
    on the cross of our bones."

    - This physically gave me chills. I think it worked really well how you mentioned the promise land then give the images of crucifixion.

    "These tickets are pretended;
    there are no destination
    but turning around ever intended,"

    - This sounded a bit awkward to me. Simply my opinion and perception of this, but I think it might sound better as "pretend" without the added "ed". Then, grammatically, I believe it would sound better "there is no destination" or "there are no destinations".

    "Here, there are no maps
    but the fresh paint of pains
    in the blueprint of our bones."

    - These were my three favorite lines in the entire poem. I love how it sounds "p of p" snd "b of b" and there's such a raw, visible outcry of pain here. It's loud in its colors.

    Nominated and will be reading again.

    • 5 years ago

      by ddavidd

      What a wonderful and inspiring comment dear PotP. I implemented your suggestions, merely because they were good ones. I hope you like them
      Thanks again

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