"Snowless Winter"

[decadence]

This roaming winter road
is besotted with missing, reckless abandon
I sit and sift through the clothing of a hope
and find myself high on a ledge, with a mask on
I look inward, and there rests a claw
it rakes across me, opening a maw of chest flesh;
a tumor-sized, cumbersome reminder
that snow doesn't fall in Hell

Hell can be subjective,
just as the clouds have multiple personalities
And yet, and yet...
I look around my circumference
to find the salt shaker that contains her ashes
and her white powder becomes the snowfall
in this season
between the screaming and the drying of tears

Currents on the winds slap
and my face protests these ministrations
I turn away from that which burns
but with ice, not with fire
an invisible demonic surge against me
I look outside and see silent freezing
the snow is gone from my fields of grieving



The original, first incarnation was this:

This roaming winter road I travel on,
is besotted with missing, reckless abandon.
I sit and sift through the ashes of a hope,
and find myself high on a ledge, with no rope.
I look inward, and there rests a claw,
it rakes across me, opening a maw
of chest flesh;
a little, cumbersome reminder,
that snow doesn't fall in Hell.

Currents on the winds slap,
and my face protests these ministrations.
I turn away from that which burns,
but with ice, not with fire,
an invisible demonic surge against me.
I look outside and see silent freezing,
the snow is gone from my fields of grieving.

[Milk White Chocolate]

Hi decadence...

I just have a few suggestions for you poem...
I would maybe take out a few "and " and "the" that don't seem necessary and that might help the flow a bit. I would also rearrange a few phrases...but that is just personnal taste
I'll give to you a few of my ideas...

This roaming winter road
is besotted with missing, reckless abandon
I sit and sift through the clothing of a hope
and find myself high on a ledge, with a mask on
I look inward, and there rests a claw
it rakes across me, opening a maw of chest flesh;
a tumor-sized, cumbersome reminder
that snow doesn't fall in Hell

This roaming winter road,
is besotted with missing,
reckless abandon.
I sit, sift through the clothing of a hope,
and find myself high on a ledge, with a mask on.
I look inward,
there rests a claw,
it rakes across me,
opening a maw of chest flesh;
a tumour-sized, cumbersome reminder,
that snow in hell,
doesn't fall.

Hell can be subjective,
just as the clouds have multiple personalities
And yet, and yet...
I look around my circumference
to find the salt shaker that contains her ashes
and her white powder becomes the snowfall
in this season
between the screaming and the drying of tears

Hell can be subjective,
just as the clouds have multiple personalities.
And yet, and yet...
I look around my circumference,
to find the salt shaker that contains her ashes.
Her white powder becomes the snowfall,
in this season,
between the drying of tears,
the screaming.

Currents on the winds slap
and my face protests these ministrations
I turn away from that which burns
but with ice, not with fire
an invisible demonic surge against me
I look outside and see silent freezing
the snow is gone from my fields of grieving

Currents on the winds slap,
my face protests these ministrations.
I turn away from that which burns,
but with ice, not with fire,
an invisble demoniac surges against me.
I look outside,
see silent freezing,
snow is gone from my fields of grieving.

I added punctuation, ( just a habit of mine! ) I hope you don't mind and that I didn't cut it up in the wrong way, I did it to how I understood your poem...

Hope you didn't mind my suggestions...and feel free to like them or leave them!

[decadence]

Thank you mucho