I had yet to see a mantle
that soft and sweet.
Not in its taste, but kindness.
I guess, it was in the way it fell—
No. Trickled down—but not out
of sight.
Gently filling in their footprints;
everyone came and went, but it stayed
hoping someone would notice.
Only the crunch of boots remained,
slowly disappearing like the morning birds
in the early fog of winter.
From its incessant showering of delicate
affection, perhaps, it did not care.
Blind, I persisted.
No amount of shovelling or running it over,
turning the beautiful, serener hail
into dirt slush, discarded mounds
of frozen mud, will stop it from falling.
I looked onwards, as it covered everything:
the white sheet pulled over our heads—giving
me something I longed for, for decades.
Miguel Guerreiro Lourenço is a Portuguese poet and writer, currently living and studying in the United Kingdom. He is influenced greatly by many contemporary artists and slam-poets, but its his love for music, namely hip-hop, that shapes the flow and rhyme schemes of his pieces. Miguel aspires to entertain as much as to inspire, for he believes there is always something worth writing about in all of us.
Foxglove Journal 