Sixteen Winters

The days reflect
Like yellow light against the soul
Colored glass shattered into weeks
And scattered winters –
Sixteen of them littering the lawn

Prismatic hope breaks
Into shafts of cold, watered-down sun:
Bitter wine swallowed with a shiver
December breath and January tears
Stain my eyes that squint in the bleached dawn

For a simple moment
I cradle his voice in my shaking hands
And wish to return it like rain to the sea
Away from me –
Nothing but dust upon the bare surfaces of my heart

First, I have to say, I absolutely love the imagery, how you used color and tone to illustrate the poem.
This line especially:

I cradle his voice in my shaking hands
And wish to return it like rain to the sea

Beautiful.

Just one thing: this -

Stain my eyes that squint in the bleached dawn

sounds a little awkward, but I'm not sure how it should be reworded, if at all.

Hi Miss Rose!

This was a nice poem. I will admit that I was a little click on this poem when I saw your title, as I, like many others, am sick of winter and want it to be over. However, I clicked, and I was thorougly impressed!

You've got a nice, solid style with your imagery-I can tell the scene is pretty, but it's vague enough you've left the details to the reader's imagination, which I like! There was one tiny nitpick that I had, but otherwise it was a flawless poem.

S.S. Rose wrote:The days reflect

What exactly do the days reflect? You just end the thought right there, and that leaves the reader feeling empty. Try to fill it in.

Otherwise, nice work! PM me if you have any questions.

-Elinor

Greetings, salutations, a voice shouting hello:

This was interesting. "Sixteen Winters" had a dry (in the positive way, not saturated with glib words), eloquent aura that really felt refreshing to read. I felt that of the three stanzas, the latter two were the strongest– the first one came across a bit weak. Did you mean by "the days reflect" to mean that the past sixteen winters all look/feel the same (they all reflect eachother)....? And why is the light yellow, of all colors? Just curious.

I don't have much to say about the second stanza, but the last one really struck me with its unexpected imagery and sparse, desolate, melancholy tone. My eyes automatically read "I cradle his voice in my shaking hands" as head, but I think it was a good choice if it made me pause; and I just really enjoyed the whole of the poem.

I think the first stanza warrants some revision, just to clarify certain spots, but again, this was lovely. *presses the like–it button*

Thanks for sharing this with us.

–antimelrose

To me, your poem was pure pleasure. It flows so smoothly and has unique play on imagery. Honestly, I don't think anything should be changed in it. It is perfect the way it is.