The biting cold extemporaneously
leaps a yearning for warmth from my bitter heart
I’m too proud to beg
too conventional to seek
too pragmatic to pray
too downtrodden to hope
idealism is a fool’s game
for the fool-hardy
The only bravery that extends
is borne of immovable stubbornness
to see it other than exactly as it is
but I have not enough lenses
too human and given to folly
and this,  my undoing
a dire need
to be right
in a world that perceives
a different wrong
some sign
of “I told you so…”
and you, wrapped back up in my arms;
a blanket of warmth.