Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

- Robert Frost

Teardrops fall from the heavens,
Tasting of ashes
From the world below...

The clouds are falling softly
And the air is saturated with snowflakes
I am already beginning to forget
The summer state of our frozen lake

Horizon lines no longer exist
Out of sight, out of mind
And the white and gentle sheets
Cover up footprints I left behind

The subzero softness casts its glow
And I search for salvation in the snow

The garden of blood,
Where bodies and grenades,
drizzle upon the boundaries,
fighting for religion, power, and greed.

The golden glow of Apollo  embraces the heavens,
and reflects upon the Scarlett land turning vermillion,
as the last ray grabs onto the strings of dying ****.
The Grimm taints the field with his presence.

Death whispers with serenity,
as the beat of his heart thumps down to a notch or two.
Memories of loved ones flood his brain with,
nostalgia love and longing.

One last touch. One last glimpse and one last breath.
Promise of honor, hope, and security,
The lifeless body lies in the garden of death and sacrifice,
And returns to ash with nothing left but memories to share.

‘It is not the pain, but the hope, that hurts‘,
I insisted, thinking I was wise;
as he plucked two twinkling stars from the sky
and placed them in my eyes

My head upon his shoulder lain
he carried me to my resting hour,
climbing the tresses of Ferdowsi’s Rudāba
he freed me from the imprisoning tower

‘We’ve seen each other’s scars‘, he said
our imperfections seem so perfect’
As I gaze into his fathomless eyes
my heart, in soothing undulation, swept

Carried away on an emerald ocean
within the cadence of my wanting,
‘the deeper you dive, the less violent the waves‘,
I immerse, the current no longer daunting

First buds break through winter’s frost
ushering the blessed re-birth of spring,
his kiss, a flame, melts the ice in my soul
re-awakening my heart to blossoming.

The cold, unlike most people I find these days, does not make me shrivel up under countless layers of clothing and tremble in an unforbiding ache. It does not make me tired and want to stay at home, or even stay inside for that matter. It does not make me complain and wish for warmer weather.
       I love the cold. I admire it. It makes me feel alive. Sending small tingles through my spine, igniting an urge to run. An urge to go do something remarkable. The cold gives me inspiration, energy, and even comfort. Comfort that I am a part of something so much bigger than I am. A beautiful composition of a cycle that is beyond comprehension. And that makes me feel significant, with the contrary of a scarce absence of fear or worry.
       But most of all, the cold reminds me of him. Not of pain or bitterness, but of excitement. Of something intriguing I can never, but will always try, to figure out. The cold reminds me of him, and how much he loves that chilling sense of freedom, as I love him. And how he is so at peace with nature, as I find that same serenity in the frost. And how, we are at one with the cold.

I, queen of frost
Shall freeze your thwarted heart
As the blood in your veins comes to a low
I, queen of blood
shall have you bleed through night and day
As the warmth within you soon stops and stays

Together
We give birth
To one of frost and blood
One who shall live forever
for she the immortal queen
One who controls the mortals
One who tames natures beasts

Her existence recorded as one of life and death
For she is the queen that shall freeze and leach
For she the queen born of haem and glacé
For she the queen of frost and blood

Is time to pay homage to those who paved a path for me. Had a "Dream with in a dream" like Edgar did. No kiss upon the brow, we shook hands and drank tea. Spoke about love and death and all its synonyms like I am to he. Did you kissed her because she died? Were the grain of golden sand that creeped through your fingers  from her broken hour glass? Is this life a reality or yet a dream? For the poor it must be a nightmare to sleep and not see reality. As he vanished right in front of me and left behind a black feather with ink as it came from a Raven's wing.

Pinched my self to wake up from this dream or nightmare. Scared of what might come next. I see snow flakes start to fall from the sky as if heaven is coming down towards me. I look up with my mouth open catching snow on my tounge. I hear a horse gallop and is getting close. He stops right before and asked if the woods are mine? He says, "I know he know he still has miles to go for promises he must keep before he sleeps." As the horse harness bell shakes he ask "before I depart how far I'll go before I sleep in the woods that are lovely, dark and deep. Remember my name Robert Frost, for when I sleep and arrive at your door but For now I must go I have promises to keep, I have promises to keep before I sleep." As he vanishes right before my eyes horse and all I hear the gallops far far away and a solid snow flake falls right between my eyes.

and I blink and I see 21st century man ask a stranger where am i? He smiles and sarcastically said "the land of the free" "we were named New Amsterdam but now is called Manhattan, this hear is Harlem. I'm Langston Hughes let's sit by the river. Asked him how's life? "Life is fine" "I was born for living as are you." "You'll be dogged if you let them see you die for love, so live. You'll make your mark I'll all come one night." Took the elevator to the 16 floor asked him if I was dreaming? He said "of course I died in 1967" as he jumped this time for the first time he yelled "don't let it dry up like a raisin in the sun, dream don't defer". Just like that he was gone.

As time moves back and forth between centuries. I hear murmurs, see things I can't understand stop please the voices are to much for me. Troy, Troy is it burned yet? Homer and William Butler Yeats discuss Odeysseu's journey, Helen and Menelaus king of Sparta.
Stop! Stop! Stop! As I fall from space in fear of my death. I wake up and see the sun beaming through the blinds. The smell of pancakes enters the room and in to my nose, glad is on my face. She said "How you sleep last night, bad dream again" As I eat with my left and write with my right. Time to pay homage i said. Time to pay homage.

i am a windsock
that you found atop an abandoned heart valve, trying to catch its breath
an open-mouthed fish with air passing through the gills
drowning in solitude

you took me down
washed me up,
and i felt useful again

you never asked me to love you
never stapled me to the wall or made me into your sock puppet with googly eyes
but i would find myself nestled beside you, anyway
in the moments i wanted to feel a little more human

you listened, mostly
you would hold me up and watch me fill with air and when things got too emotional i would wriggle free and tumble off the mountain peak in a scatter-brained attempt to prove i didn't need you
you never raised your voice or shouted after me, and i never raised my hand to say, "i need you, too"

3 years went by

you never begged me to love you
but you whispered that feelings had sprouted from your heart so long ago on the mountain
and i could see the lettuce leaves protruding from your chest
and i became afraid
i had never kept something like this alive

(a list of things that i'd let die:
a cactus
friendships
hermit *****
fish
and tiny flowers)

so i let the wind take me again
i dont know why
i crawled back to the crusty heart valve
and tried to let my soul dry out
(a raisin in the sun)

but after a month of drowning in my own solitude
i heard that a frost was coming

i thought of the tiny leaves protruding from the ridges of your chest

(could i let something so innocent die again?)

and on September 27th, while you slept
i, the wind sock, slipped into the sheets
i covered our tender love with all i had

and we weathered the frost together.