by Louise Craven
Ambient light
Seeping through sheltered glass
Mystical, unnatural
Too bright
Unlike golden sunshine
That fills corners and
Spreads like warm butter
This light is harsh
Cheerless and chilly
Heartless greeting
For eyes sleep slack and
Limbs still stiff
From night’s embrace.
The world looks still a-bed
Contours flattened
Corners softened
Ugliness hidden
Smothered
Shrouded and silenced
Everything tucked up cosy
And warm beneath
Icy fluff
False purity despoiled
By feet and morning movement
Death’s duvet dirtied
By life
In all its
Malignant and maggoty
Turbulence
Winter’s bed unmade
Louise Craven: sporadic writer, serial procrastinator, sometimes published.
The Pygmy Giant 
#1 by S de Assaf on July 13, 2010 - 9:19 am
Beautiful imagery and thought provoking.
#2 by T Gyatso on July 13, 2010 - 9:21 am
Enjoyed this very much!
#3 by gaelikaa on July 13, 2010 - 2:43 pm
That was well worth reading – and re-reading and re-reading….