Soles blue,

numb from the snow’s fall,

I stood reflecting

at the reflection of the moon

in my dry Sherry wine.


Small circles

counter-clockwise making waves

crying, reflecting

at the reflection of the moon;

an infinite snow dons the backdrop.


What was her name that questioned

my heart’s motive for trust?

A quivering hand

presents me with a million moods

breathe….breathe….breathe…., I must,

be dissolving

in to the reflection of the moon.


In the numb I felt home.

At home I felt numb

to the desired fire

that now rents a once vacant room,

no higher,

than my brain will allow.

Like a crime scene

on the day of our Independence,

that glass shattered,

cutting, falling, reflecting

a million moons that fell upon the snow.


Don’t say my name

for it is a worthless name

no one person should have to carry.

I, who will die alone inside,

fall to pieces daily,

wanting to know why you married.

It’s all coming back to me,

in the wine, in the snow,

in the last dissolving reflection of the moon!


by Warren Frieden

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