Cold Case

Our history is a cold case
Dissected on a table
Dusty memories now covered
No-one has looked within
For years

Our passion is on cold ice
Freezing like its birth-right
Trapped within a photo
A memory mostly forgotten
In tears

Our mystery is a cold case
Rendered lost and irrelevant, yet
detectives may still ponder,
looking for imperfections
in the crime

Our hopes are now on cold ice
They breathed too brief and small
Left-overs from a dinner
where no guests came to call
in time

(c) Helen Valentina 2013, All Rights Reserved

About helenvalentina

Like most people, I have a number of sides to me. The most interesting one probably emerges through my writing, hence this blog. I love to read, and also to write, and so this is a way to share both.
This entry was posted in Poetry, Water and tagged , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

8 Responses to Cold Case

  1. Sigh…my hopes are on cold ice. “They breathed too brief and small”

    Beautiful, as always, Sis.

  2. Brian Hughes says:

    “Left-overs from a dinner where no guests came to call in time…” I told you not to used the tinned salmon.

  3. Noora says:

    Very intriguing and moving. I enjoyed this poem very much.

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