Winter’s Gray- Michael Erickson


Photo by Michael Erickson

Upon a frozen waste I walk,

Beneath a blanket of sky.

No feeling have I within my hands,

As my teeth in chattering lie.

From my lips does crimson drip,

Upon the winter’s gray.

No life exists where rest nere lays,

Stuck fast upon this forever day.

Now lay me down to dust and ash,

Beyond my rustling mind.

For pen and ink will find what’s left,

Upon the winter’s gray.

Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.


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