The winter’s been hard and spring slow to come

Grey clouds hug the sky like funeral shrouds.

Buds cower to bloom like guests unwelcome,

Waiting for the sun to break through the clouds.

The days fly-by fast with nothing achieved,

The nights are full of shadows and whispers;

My dreams are colourless, hardly perceived,

Punctuated by deep sighs and whimpers.

I run from memories in crowded streets,

Seeking shelter under gothic arches,

Hiding from my sorrows in bleak retreats,

Whilst my life stops… and the time just marches…

Walking in silence swallowed in the crowds,

I am searching for your face in the clouds.

© P. J. Oszmann (2010)

© Illustration created in Photoshop (2010)