2-5-13

my muse has wandered and fallen
dead like the leaves that I stepped on last autumn.
when pain was still fresh
and snow hidden deep in the sky, 
time would come to peel you off my shoulders.

caught like a leech you scabbed and wounded,
the proverbial thorn has
been released from my side.
there will be flowers blooming in spring time.
another muse to use up a recycled line.

I watched the leaves fall into my nicotine clouds,  saw many an emotion
carried beneath a burial shroud. 

every death is a reflection on you.
every snowflake a shot at something new.