The Icy Slough

The slough of despond

is lined with

dead bullrushes

and cattails,

broken stalks

poking through

the ice

that covers

the pond,

thick frost

etching

every leaf

does every heart visit it

in winter

to look

with the same

deadened eyes

upon a vista of

nothing living?

how does it remember,

in those times,

that spring will come

again,

when no birds sing

and chirp

in the winter garden?

Traveler,

you have choices:

one can trudge

right through,

sinking into the sludge

with mud-filled boots

that get caught fast

and will

never rise again,

or one can go around

by the

marked pathways

where others have trodden,

signposts pointing the way,

to wait for

a better day.

one can visit briefly,

then turn one's back

and search for a sunnier slope.

what makes the difference

between the one who puts

her head in the oven

and the one who hangs

grimly on

to hope?

whatever it is,

please believe me

when I tell you

that despondence

is a temporary

station.

take the next turning

you come to

and believe,

for winter is short

in duration.

Weary Traveler,

take the path

we've left

behind

for you.

There lies

a beautiful valley

on the other side

of the slough.

The talented Victoria has set us an intriguing prompt over at dVerse: The Medium is the Message . Victoria asked us  "to write a descriptive poem in which you will use images to describe a feeling, a truth you hold dear, a person, using primarily surroundings—in other words, an imagist poem that has an embedded message about whatever…"

Do zip over to dVerse, for some good reading!