My heart is like a snow laden car
Freezing in the bitter cold
Left to stand in a parking lot semi-alone
Clearing my windows I depart
Most anxiously to feel the need
And yet as in each morning, each winter
When the days are dreary and quick to dark
There is a frost to be found all around
And so my hesitant in heart
Is to turn over and start
Warming only by this, the end of this drive
For my heart is like a snow laden car
Covered and only to be seen in part
When cleared away the beating heart
Is too warm too late and frozen still
Breath escapes my body,
Only to become encompassed
By the frigid, boreal winter.
I dare not sit lest my body stiffen,
And my mind bear my final moments
In ache and anguish.
The twilight holds a certain latent agitation.
Energy will seep past the horizon,
In the form of caressing rays of sunlight.
Before the world wakes,
I unravel what little protection
I had given my body against the bitter cold.
The cold stabs at my bare skin.
My legs lose feeling and buckle under me,
And the deep snow engulfs my body.
The world is embracing me,
Accepting my valiant sacrifice.
I hear mother Earth sing a sigh of relief.
I finally realized my place within the universe:
A universe which I had always
accepted as home.
It was never my home.
I was always a guest here,
Willingly invited, yet overstayed.
Polyanthus sunsets greet
the hollow days, where the
sun is sheathed behind a
cauldron of dormant pillows.
Where hibernation closes
eyes of many a beast, and
man wished he could slumber
through rigid months breath.
Though we plough upon the
white flurries settling new each
day. We gaze upon the frozen
stars lingering aloft on cold nights.
I wonder what if my head would freeze
I sift through diary entries
Under a dim candle’s light
The tunnels in the tundra’s night
They are so bleak, and I mull alone
The dogs followed me
To my frozen retreat
They gnaw at me
And I starve with no heat
The world around is so
Vast, so strange and so
Vast and empty
The dogs are my friends
They just will lick me a while
And I will then be cold no more.
He walks on cold, desert lands,
the gusts of the season chilling him with ease.
He holds himself to “sharper standards,”
longing for comfort in man-made technologies –
a man and his mind,
so hard to appease.
Among the carnal confinements,
none more galling than thermal boundaries.
No injustice older than the rule
of ninety-eight-point-six degrees –
chaining us to the depthless shoals
of long forgotten, prehistoric seas.
The blizzards of snow, falling straight to the ground,
circle in the wind and block out the sound,
burning my skin and freezing my soul,
yes the winter has taken it's toll.
The dead trees that shed their leaves, I only see a reflection of me,
but no one thinks to dress me up with light.
While the nights are going strong, the drunkards belt out their yuletide songs,
the added up years have turned the phrases trite.
And all those lost souls were tracing angels of the snow,
Using chalk though the white blended in too well.
Seeing the indent and questioning how far it did go,
If this unknowing snow angel had made it's way to Hell.