Grey Winter Deadly
A Poem by Stephanie Evelyn
Pigments of the morning light
Make window panes squint at dawn.
Naked branches, frost shiver bite
Stiff grass buried under a tombstone lawn.
In this world, am I the only one awake?
Is everyone else in a sleep so deep?
My toes turn to ice as I search too late
My eyes are open, but maybe it's me who's asleep.
Cupped hands to lips that cry of cold,
Dew drops glisten off dying leaves.
Stories of so many, a chance never told,
A world left only of haunted trees.
I call out for someone, something but,
The only answer I get is my voice as cold.
My words drift out as fog, vanish when touched,
Inside hearts, so many stories go untold.
I called for it many,
But never a sound.
Grey winter deadly,
My calls were not found.
It was one windy day when a message arrived,
The wind whistled it through the trees.
It said, “The world has forgotten you but no need to cry.
Your stories of so many can now become free.”
Thanks for reading.
Check out my other poems below.
I am Sterp. I write dark fiction and have a very unhealthy obsession with disturbing narratives. I am the author of The Cult Called Freedom House: Sophia Rey Book One. My short story The Lost Tea Cup is in Issue 26 of The Literary Hatchet. I am also a painter.
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