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The Web Poetry Corner

Helen Stanley

of

Toronto, ON, CA

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Untitled

by

Helen Stanley

the windows are covered in a frosty hase of ice
obscuring the view of the world outside
isolating the tiny box
and creating an introspective environment
full of smoke and loneliness
the ideal is lost within the whiteness of the world at large
cowered in a corner
waiting for the lights to come on
and the box to become a tropical paradise again.
She listens to the trains go by
the hustle bustle of a lost civilisation
a world of ice princesses
and snow maidens.
She sits and waits
thinking of a yesterday that never happeded
and a tomorrow that will never come
lost in her thoughts
memories flood the airwaves
and a puddle of ashes drops to the floor
ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
She sits and waits
and waits and sits
in a world of her own.
The ground covered in death
thousands of flys meeting destiny with a handshake
she cowers in her corner
her safety blanket covers her fraility.
She is lost in the mists
waiting for the light to inspire her
the smoke wafts up towards the ceiling
her halo losing its glimmer
she falls asleep in the darkness
with the trains roaring by,
and the ice insulating her from the Whitenoise.