Poemetry by T.A. Barnhart


sitting in my room
waiting for the snow to come,
but it may be
a week away.
that’s ok;
what else do i have to do
but wait?
there is nothing
i am absent from
nowhere to be missed,
people looking around and asking,
is he not here today?
but snow is in the forecast;
that’s something
to look forward to:
walking through the cold quiet,
all noises muffled,
my footsteps crunching
and i have to take care
with every step,
with every breath,
with every fleeting, fading moment.

©TA Barnhart January 21, 2021