This is Where I Live

This is where I live,
where the winters are long
and life is monochrome,
and the wind moans through the mountains
like an angry ghost.

This is where I live,
where nightfall comes early
and dreams huddle around fires,
to survive the creeping dark
that seeps into a man’s soul.

This is where I live,
in a place of battles,
silent and deadly, where often God and madness
are your dearest friends,
the last ones, that huddle around the fire with you.

They are the best of friends, these two,
immortal and able to see color where there is none,
able to create joy and music and love
in a world wracked with winter,
they soothe my soul and sing harmony with the wind,

changing it from dirge to delight,
a Bedouin dance full of heat and light.
a dance of journeys and horizons
that await you like a lover’s whisper,
This is where I live.

About this poem.

I was flat this morning. Having a hard time getting going. This was supposed to be a dark poem, but words have a mind of their own sometimes.

Tom