Discover Top Posts Tagged with #winter poem

“All Knowing Candles” by Seraphine Saintclair

does it snow in Paris?

i've never been to Paris but i imagine it does the kind of snow that melts before it touches your eyelashes the kind that makes strangers look up at the same time

i am realizing now that i don't want the forecast. i don't want the clarity. clarity is for tax returns and office lights.

i am looking for the blur.

someone once told me they saw the Eiffel Tower in winter. how the metal bones collected white like a skeleton learning tenderness.

that which is sacred is always half-hidden.

maybe that is why i crave the snow.

i wonder if lovers still kiss when snowflakes interrupt their lips or if cafe windows fog with breath and finger-drawn hearts that disappear when the heat inside shifts

the soul is too shy for sunlight. it needs the steam off a coffee cup. it needs the collar turned up against the wind. it needs to be buried, just a little, so it can be safe enough to speak.

there is this line i read once, about how the feminine went with the feminine and the union was half-concealed how two things can touch so quietly the world doesn't even know it happened

i don't want to see you clearly. i want to see you softly. i want to know you in the spaces where the camera can't focus. in the hush. in the blurry. in the way the ground disappears underneath the drift of something new.

there are questions we ask not for answers but for the space they create between two people

i am asking if the world can still keep a secret.

do you still think of me when the weather changes?

does it snow in Paris?

#poetry #original poetry #writeblr #paris #snow #winter poem #soft focus #burred edges #intimacy #longing #romanticizing everything

The ridge is lost where earth meets sky,

a muted smudge of shadow passing by.

The mist descends, a damp and heavy sheet,

a silence falling, utterly complete.

Here in the cold, where granite sentinels sleep,

the trees stand rigid with promises to keep.

Not of the sun, or green and joyful days,

but of enduring through the endless grey haze.

Each falling flake, a feather-light farewell,

adds to the loneliness where spirits dwell.

The world outside is softened, blurred, and slight,

a whisper fading into duller light.

And in that grey, my own reflection lies,

the landscape mirrored in my tired eyes.

A solemn winter, where the colors fade,

and every hope is cloaked in a somber shade.

We share this tint, the forest and the soul,

an unbroken, heavy, empty whole.

A deep stillness, raw and true,

within this solitude of fading blue.

November 2025

Written on the 23rd of November, 2025.

Frostbite

Buried in ice and snow

Glittering and cold

Light flurries falling from the sky

Nipping at your fingers and your toes

Your ears and your nose

Yet as you lay

Staring at the sky

A warmth floods your body

Before you calmly fade away

In a sea of white

(I went on a walk in the snow today, it’s cold out but don’t mind, I find the snow rather pretty.)

#writers and poets #poetry #literature #original poem #poem #poems and poetry #poetic #poets on tumblr #snow #winter #winter poem #snow poem #frostbite #canada #Sylvia Putnam

Winter Poem

Sarah Warda

oil on canvas, 2025

#Sarah Warda #art #artist #painter #painting #Winter Poem

does it snow in Paris?

i've never been to Paris but i imagine it does the kind of snow that melts before it touches your eyelashes the kind that makes strangers look up at the same time

i am realizing now that i don't want the forecast. i don't want the clarity. clarity is for tax returns and office lights.

i am looking for the blur.

someone once told me they saw the Eiffel Tower in winter. how the metal bones collected white like a skeleton learning tenderness.

that which is sacred is always half-hidden.

maybe that is why i crave the snow.

i wonder if lovers still kiss when snowflakes interrupt their lips or if cafe windows fog with breath and finger-drawn hearts that disappear when the heat inside shifts

the soul is too shy for sunlight. it needs the steam off a coffee cup. it needs the collar turned up against the wind. it needs to be buried, just a little, so it can be safe enough to speak.

there is this line i read once, about how the feminine went with the feminine and the union was half-concealed how two things can touch so quietly the world doesn't even know it happened

there are questions we ask not for answers but for the space they create between two people

i am asking if the world can still keep a secret.

do you still think of me when the weather changes?

does it snow in Paris?

#poetry #original poetry #writeblr #paris #snow #winter poem #soft focus #burred edges #intimacy #longing #romanticizing everything

#winter poem

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#winter poem