Snow at the Gates

July2017

The sky envelops me
As images focus flicker
Through a scratched movie film dance.
Characters move quicker,
I catch only a glance
Of spinning pirouette,
Then fading I lose them,
Seeing barely and yet
The silent sound waits
Until finally I’m buried
Beneath the snow at the gates.

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Author: George McDermid

I scratch out poems, and the odd little tale. Mostly for my own amusement.

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