I LOOK AT DEATH (After Li Shangyin) An icy wind cracks the trees. Their once colourful leaves are buried under deep snow. I’m suddenly gripped by sadness. Forever men have felt as I do. With a sharp, swift blade, it’s as if my guts were removed, and I feel the hole it’s made. I take no interest in combing my hair, or tying my careworn shoes. I gaze at the moon and the stars. In that far off world, they look safe and blessed. But I know that they, too, are fragile at best. I watch a solitary sparrow shiver in a leafless tree. He’s cold. He hasn’t been fed. I shake my head, ashamed, and return to my comfortable bed.
George Freek’s poetry has recently appeared in The Ottawa Arts Review, Acumen, The Lake, The Whimsical Poet, Triggerfish and Torrid Literature.
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