I
I carve into wood:
the wilting whistles
(of windflowers),
wrapped in those words
winter wields.
II
Sage incense softens the mood -
but still,
a whimper echoes
through voices
that blew out the sky
in December.
III
An oil painting forms
on my iris -
A colourful reminder
of those years,
when seasons were reliable
and anemone fields
hypnotically danced
with their beholder.
IV
Expectantly,
I wait for March
to bloom into spring
and scrub my eyes with salt
till then.
A poem in vignettes.
Quote-inspired:
"This is the way the world ends, not with a bang but a whimper" - T. S. Eliot
I took it completely out of context and gave it a metaphorical meaning.
Winter is the end of the world for fauna and flora, until spring comes back. Even though it is spring over here, it's too cold for the time of the year.
My parents have Anemones in their garden, and I remember them from former years, when they grew so graciously, while the cold (and rain) practically killed them this year.
The meaning of Anemone (or windflower) is basically 'forsaken' and also 'a dying hope'.
The whole poem is layered - so yah.