Chilling my bones
is the cold.
Its white, powdered hands
flowing around me.
The air cuts at my lungs,
striking them dry,
making me only
blue and numb.
The world is half buried.
Shadows and outlines peak out from below.
The ground grows higher,
vanishing any thoughts of home.
No warmth will be found
in these barren places.
Long gone are its people.
Even so, the cold will continue chasing.
In the months to come,
it will only grow stronger.
Swallowing the sun
and crushing the innocent flower.
Onward I will travel
until heat again bathes my skin
and Winter’s icy tendrils
collapse and give in.
Advertisements
