November Wind: A poem by Mike Cole

He felt a chill as the air grew cold

The leaves blew gently

He closed his eyes

This November was colder than usual.

He chopped wood and carried the bundle back to the fireplace

The wood crackled as it burned.

He thought back to Novembers long before, and was left, wanting.

A time where the warmth of the fire was felt throughout.

Where his jaded smile was once whole.

Yet only the cold remained. Waiting for Winter, silently and alone.

Winter

In the Winter, he carried his torch and hoped for Spring.

He waited yet the birds never did sing.

So Summer came and went,

and with Autumn brought rain.

And once again he found himself greeting Winter.

The cold air, brisk and to the point.

The trees, dead in appearance yet very much alive.

And then Spring came and he let it pass.

He waited for the cold he knew too well.


Funds to send Mike to Mars

I love producing content. As I grow as an individual, so does my content. What was once acceptable now isn’t. As such, more time is spent working on each post. I do all edits, research, and content creation. Whether it’s taking photos for a post one day to writing poetry the next, my blog is keeping me busy. Donations are appreciated and are used to invest in creative pursuits whether that be writing classes, art lessons, and anything in-between.

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