Thoughts Upon Why My Throat is Dry

In winter snow, my mind is a desert,
A burnt illusion in the bitter cold;
My heart becomes less alike the blizzards
Than to the sands with their visions of gold;
Whilst England falls in the hands of the haze,
I see ev’ry single sobering grain
In the desert land of golden pathways,
An escape from worlds of blinding black rain.

Yet as deathly black clouds clear from my head,
I see the loneliness of the desert;
For whilst there’s no threat from the Demon here,
I am embraced by a new, empty fear.

I find that my true home is the blizzard,
Joyfully deaf to where the desert leads.

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About DickensianJack

Born in Wolverhampton in November '93, moved to Huddersfield in September 2012. Studying at the University of Huddersfield. In love with the town - simple as that. As for the blog itself, I've been doing bits and pieces of writing (with varying quality) for a few years. A friend suggested I start a blog to share my work. Most of the stuff on here is poems, but there's other work interspersed on the page. Feel free to leave any comments on my work. Twitter: @DickensianJack (Jack Dickens) Facebook: www.facebook.com/dickensianjack Cheers, enjoy.
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