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.


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