Just a short poem I wanted to share, also found on my Protagonize account.
Woollen coats
And past memoirs,
Faint echoes of
The frost beneath feet;
Not one pair
Or two,
But three in neatened row,
Trailing off to nowhere,
Gossamer nowhere,
As cold as winter air,
Without such bite;
In the distance
Lies shapes unclear,
Moulded to the sky,
Unhappy hearts,
Set where they were sat,
Along the misted ridge;
Silence clambers on
Amongst the
Broken highway
Of the past,
And some clouded
November ghosts.
Hope you like it.
Alexandrina Brant 