Winter winds charm the ancient oak trees
whipping through branches,
reverberating down spines.
Their secrets freed
stretching out in the aching creaks.

Flurries of icy daggers
(beautiful devils)
whip across my face.
Ripping by my eyelids, they tempt tears to come out and play.
I’ve been here before but
the frigid tears streamed down my face for another reason.

How clumsily we display our emotions,
guising one in the veil of another.
We cry to say I am happy, sad, unable to go on.
We laugh because we are free,
or because at times we feel so bound it is all we can do.

I say nothing,
do nothing because I miss you too much,
but play it as though I never really cared.