I open my door - to the brisk December air,
Each breath as Fresh as the mornings First -
Through my Frosted airways -
A Winter Cloud exhaled.

2019 began
in a shimmer of hope, of peace,
a little light at the end of the tunnel
that was this decade.
And now it is time to
bid farewell,
to not only 2019,
but welcome in another year
and decade with open hearts.
Even if life didn't go according to plan,
I do hang on to the hope of a future
so very far from my past.

Is a breath,
Stuffed with coffee grind
Thirsting for milk
And never to suckle.

Is a thought,
A dream quickly awoken from;
And lost in the tenor of real,
Sighs from life

Is a light,
A shaft of gold
worth all the stars
And yet empty

Is a place,
With silent waves and screaming winds--
The ears, pierced with calculated air

Is a God,
Is a moment,
Is a place,
Is a thought,
Is a breath,

Is a time to give thanks to winter
And dance in the snow.

Is a time to kiss the trees and hug their leaves
And laugh
When their cackled, dehydrated ossicles
Ground to dust in our arms

Is a time to worship the sun between the planes of stone
And calculate the equinox online
With electrons and info

With a careful rasp
The next turn of the marble
Grates against the curve
And the Mancala track keeps what it has sown.

I've been running, I've been hiding, I've been praying to stay alive,
I've been losing sleep and frost covered ground to the Ghosts of January

And they come knocking, they come crawling, they come hunting for my blood, They make the summer nights feel cold and drive fear straight through my bones.

I've been singing, I've been wishing, for you to pull my pain out with your teeth, but my frost-bitten fear goes deep, and the light of smile wont cause a thaw.

So I sit behind locked doors and scream a question with hopes of a response, pleading to a God I don't have faith in, and a mother who's lost her son.

"Is heaven still an option if I drown in my own blood,
if the crimson pouring from my wrists was a result of what I've done.
Is heaven still an option if I take away my sorrow,
will the ghosts of January haunt me if I take away tomorrow?"

I can see it in mine, and yours too - the corners
of eyes and mouth sag, weighted by our slushy urban slog.
Unurbane, we melt into the night like Dali's clocks,
Counting, counting the minutes of loss.

Soon I'll look into the sun that cleans
every corner and highlights the dust,
and diamonds the snow, and delivers
from darkness my laden soul.

I bargain, beguile, beg for ten degrees
to turn disconsolate rain into sanguine snow.
So snow now,
                   now
                          snow,
               so we may play in the light of the darkest day.

As brutal as a desert drought!
Baren lands, hungry crops and starving mouths.
31 days seems like 62.
A neverending nightmare.
It is a marauding scavenger.
Devouring all that cross its path.

It starts off good with a lot of hope.
Before reality dawns and the struggle begins.
Each new day we limp forward.

by: MissPine

Just as I thought in this time of year,
Astonished by the new day, I fear.
Nothing I could do, smile nor cry.
Unusual it is, seems that smile I'll try.
An endless vast scenery is where I am at.
Rigidly I calm as I cover my face with a hat.
Yearn for joy, I desire, for one day, I will be.

as the rain keeps pouring,
she's still there thinking.
"will it be okay,
if i'll be gone everyday?".

she wipes her tears,
forming in her eyes.
as the rain keeps whishering,
"maybe, you're right".