the first drop of water
not ice
from the sky
signals the season’s
change

new england
so pretty
looking angelic
drew me in
a venus fly trap

locked in a prism
snow reflecting
back to me
eerie thoughts
shrouded in black

no place for a runner
where I can escape them
locked in by the fireplace
tattered ashes
mockingly laugh

i flee and i run
minus eight reads the meter
frostbitten
returning
trapped with my thinking

blocked in on all sides
the icy walls
fold in on me
forced to see the reflection
looking back at me

go away brightness
banish your glow
i need the shadows
where hidden feelings
quietly cower

another storm coming
madness engulfs me
searching for pen
grasping at paper
salvation

words spilling out
parts of me
buried so skillfully
long ago
finally see light

just for a moment
the respite’s exquisite
then longing for springtime
oh god,
why can’t it rain?

©2016janetaylor