Poem

The pale light of Winter

Falls across my face

Cold embers of my youth

Like snow crumbling 

But it's colder underskin

It's thin and shivering

A baby bird lying

Amongst the bracken

Of your distant heart

But I will never say these words. 

Because I know
They don't work for you. 

And I know you don't read those words. 

Poetry never made any sense to you. 

But I am really a poem, 

And though no one might ever understand it, 

I'm hoping you'll like the music, 

The flavour I leave on your tongue 

And the tingle I leave in your heart.

Because I am a poem.

Obscure,

Pointless,

But a bonus to life.