Arctic Winds

Submitted by Ivor Steven

I’m winter hibernating,

Inside an Eskimo’s hut.

Feeding only on fish oil,

And frozen blue blood.

My heart’s cold and dormant,

Cowering under a dampened vestment.

Pumping only yesteryears rust,

And icicles of my dust.

My eyes are swollen rocks,

Amidst polarized sockets.

Terrorizing all that’s passed,

Like forgotten arctic icebergs.

My veins are hollow crevasses,

Inside a glaciers ice-flow.

Sheering and groaning chasms,

Like my memories deepest fjord.


 

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Photo Credit: An Arctic Landscape At Dusk – Herman Herzog

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The Vita Brevis Team

“Ars longa, vita brevis" (art is long, life is short). This maxim so moved us that it seemed only right to title our online poetry magazine after it. It may seem curious that we chose Vita Brevis (life is short) as our title instead of Ars Longa (art is long). But this choice was more than appropriate; after all, the aim of our journal is to publish work that shows a keen awareness of not only art’s beauty and immortality but life’s toils and finiteness. We want to revive and nourish the rich existential literature that forms when art and the human endeavor collide.

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