Cryophilic Little Devil

Devilishly delighting in the denial of even

A nugatory spoonful of desiderata

To hungry hearts longing for just

A taste of warmth of dreamy visions.


He was a cold hearted cryophilic species

Much preferring the islands of his own deceits

To an isthmus of connectedness

Even with those he claimed to love.


Ever focused on the dirty deeds of his

Daily existence–“for the nonce, for the nonce”,

Powerfully denying any brighter future outside

Of surety of death.


Even as golden mountain’s fresh alpenglow

After summer’s quenching rains

Offered an aeromancy of possibility

Of sweeter days to come.


Spring to Summer, Fall to Winter

Seasons of unchanging surety of sameness,

His daily nonexistence flowed forever

Through the marrow of his essence.


Even while shifting lunar cycles made their play all round,

Each tide shifting willing spirit’s sands of dissimilarity,

New to First to Full to Quarter

Waxing to Waning, Gone and back again.

Handcrafted poetry by John Hines, 02/05/2016

This is the fifth in a series of poems using 7 consecutive words of the week (  This week’s words were isthmus, cryophilic, nonce, aeromancy, alpenglow, desiderata, and nugatory.

I wrapped up the reading of my 10th book of 2016 this week-Charles Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities.  I think some of the emotions I experienced in the final half of the book snuck in here and met up with some earlier life experience.  Maybe this devil is depression?  Maybe depression’s work on a person is like the devilish figures of Dickens making their way through the streets and prisons of the guillotine-era?  Thank you for reading :).



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