WINTER

White trees, eternally frozen in the night, so far deep in the night
Each frozen step of beauty follows—;
The violin into fallen skies as they gesture saying “ Help.”

And in between a note, the sculptures of time move; with ease, we cease to exist.
From the local stores of panic, clocks tick a tune with no hope to live.

Violin keeps on playing. Dancing through the sound of snow.
Look the lyre; jealous. Be. You’re the one that’s softens the snow into spring’s glory.

And while winter’s glory has come and gone.
With infinite wisdom, we, the children of the moon must part.
Before the tenderness of your hand falls before  the lyre’s touch.