Brittle knuckles stuffed in dark khakis,
Doors swung and blindness meets the eye.
Somewhere out there he is looking,
Hope glimmers in the sky.
Breath billows turn to crystals,
There is not a soul around.
Somewhere warmth beats closer,
Hope suddenly makes a sound.
Brushed by the wrath of Boreas,
Hephaestus pulsates from below.
Somewhere she is waiting,
Hope he now must know.
I enjoyed writing this poem because it actually pertains to someone very important to me. I was asked to read this piece at this year’s Academic Exposition which was a confidence boost for sure. I love poetry and I can definitely see myself writing and learning more about the art of poetry throughout the years to come.
Every time I read this poem, I look at it differently. I love the way you structured this and the imagery you employ right from the opening line. I was curious to see what kind of visual you would choose to accompany it for just that reason!