Somber Days
By Sandra Adams
I am somber
like November days
and my words speak
weak, as if through tired tongue
I see the trees
stand naked
reaching their limbs
across the stream
as if touching
and comforting each other
from the bitter cold
that’s settling in
sometimes I envy them
I want to stand naked
arch my back
reach towards hands
and feel the comfort
of more than I am allowed
and escape the bitterness
as it settles in
it doesn’t seem fair
to question a day
or night that wears the same veil
as me, colorless
and silent in the breeze
as it whispers
through the trees
sometimes
I want to lean my ear
and eavesdrop on them
I want to peak beneath
the skies veil and see
the colors blend
to see the rain
less clear
through colored drops
fall upon a canvas
and paint a masterpiece
I want to feel my hands
finger a pen, without tingling
from bottled up emotions
to feel my soul inside me
not as if locked outside
looking in, as if a stranger
to my own life
not be the afterthought
or an emotion beyond words
of some poet’s muse
I want to know the meaning
of this emptiness
I want to understand
why the tree is as naked
as my thoughts in winter
yet dressed heavy in the summer
and most beautiful in the fall
why does beauty fall
become grounded
and dance in November’s wind
somber, like the day….
