there’s a withering that begins
the days after you reach the peak.
so, ive decided to stay here
planted in the soil.
i’ve decided to outsmart
the grey listless joy.
they dont tell you
but there is nothing
nothing
but snow at the summit,
anyway.
– sc
sheila sea 
I’ve been reading your work for a while now, and this one really jumped off the page at me…
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hah, cool. I hope it jumped up and stirred a little something. Thanks, much obliged.
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For sure…It will probably manifest itself sometime soon 😜
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Reblogged this on Perth Words… exploring possibilities. and commented:
Wistful words.
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So much of the poetry I read on the internet is so opaque that I find myself longing for one clear image, one line that clarifies rather than obfuscates..really liked this poem, well done!
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Thank you, much obliged.
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planted in the soil
with my hopes.
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Evocative, rich in metaphor, a peek into a certain icy serenity, like the first frost on a grape orchard.
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Like a double helix, the body strand falls to entropy, but the spirit strand can soar and enlarge and take wonderful flight. Else what’s the use? What’s at the summit aside from the snow? The view.
Well done.
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The double helix.. brilliant, Skip. Thanks.
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Excellent! I really liked this!
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