Tunes and tones and memories of snow

I do believe this is my 600th post, or something. And that such an event, if in accordance with reality (I never was very good at counting), should be a pretty big deal. To me. But it's a bit late, or early in the morning, depending on one's state of mood and strange hours being kept fully intact and making me even stranger, so: just a poem, then, to celebrate. Or mark. Or whatever you want, whatever you need, I'm sleepy in my head and silent in my thoughts, but I wrote this a while ago and thought I should post - if only to launch the new Po(t)et style sheet, which isn't actually anything new, but it's got a bit of blue (to match above-mentioned mood) and some italics and proves I can still do html-coding at a quarter to four in the morning.

"withdrawing crusade"
by Scaramouche, the Po(t)et, and now the snow's all gone again. Furthermore, this is actually a song, and I don't write songs that often, but this is actually supposed to go with a proper melody. Wooha. But my beloved instruments, for purposes of the sort, are a couple (or, some four hundred) miles away, so I wasn't able to come up with something really tuney, so; you get the lyrics first. That being said, I miss them lots. My piano and guitar, that is. And my notebooks! Appropriately enough, then, a song about reminiscencing and memories and stuff. Winter away. Always coming back to chill me out.

this snowy path leads up to my back door
where I must cover up my tracks
on my way in, I slipped, I hurt my knee
on my way out, I staggered, hurt my heart
that’s how it goes, we said,
the snow keeps falling,
always keeping me within
and keep me safe (and keep me sane)
the clatter brings me here
the clamour brings me home

and I’ll be waiting at your window
watching flakes of ice be melting
making faces, gotten no reply, receiving nothing
here, at the opposite side of the gutter,
the barrier, keeping solid

the silky road leads up to my back yard
where I shall rest when summer come
on my way out, I swallow, hurt my voice
on my way back, I melt, I cannot speak for softness
that’s how it shows, we say,
the truths expire, all devour
always keeping me therein
and keep me swift (and keep me swill)
the chatter brought me here
the cats will bring me home,

I shout into the empty filled with quiet
cramming white leaves in my hands
as I am walking, waiting somehow
next to throw, or end up falling,
gushing out excuses,
all too soon instead

and I’ll be lingering at your step
straying only there to kneel
no solace, making failures, getting no encouragement
from any other side of this dark asphalt, drawing near,
retreating further back,

and farther from
I send out emptiness, I'm filled with quiet
crammed with sharpening sense of lief
as I am waiting, watching someone
next to no-one, end up falling
gulping up refusals
all the time too soon

like any cat, kept swell,
I’ll take me home