a bare half hand in a stormy frost

There is a crease to my lips,
That bends into the cheekbones just when I think about Him.

I don’t know why but it is endless.

I loose that complete self of myself when the crease happens.

I know that there is nothing ahead.

Certainly.

But, well, we humans don’t learn in one go, do we? 
(Or a million …)

I don’t comprehend why sadness has to implore me.

Yet, it does.
Day after day .. 

It is my pleasant indignation.

I have none else.

Do you know when and where do poets get their poesy?

It is 

During the usual festivities. 
Just like this one- this new year.

They seclude their selves to include into a sad session of poesy 
than enjoying the striking hours of new year’s eve or laugh dead smiles…
Like the rest.

Our joy is in avoiding our dreams, isn’t it?