the air, cold in the bottom of my lungs,
calls me out to face the chill,
let raindrops bless my skin,
gaze up, squinting into the sky,
and feel tiny droplets scatter on my cheeks like freckles

i love rainy, cold weather,
i love letting my sleeves fall down over my hands
i love too-wide smiles and wet toes from splashing
in puddles full of mud and hazy reflections of people i love

i love the shiver down my spine
whenever i step out the door,
walking between school buildings with friends,
laughing as loudly as we can
tucking strands of wet hair behind our ears,
checking everyone's backpacks are closed
to protect english papers and math homework

i breathe deeper in the autumn
because the bite of the cold at the sides of my lungs
gives a high i can't replicate
any other time of year

The mighty oak bows to the gentlest of breezes
The pale birch loses his leaves

Streams that are running refuse to be frozen
But icy death takes his toll

Summer is losing her grip on the earth
The whole world holds its breath

Frosty mornings and frigid nights
Replace the autumn sun

But this loss will last forever not
And the cycle begins again

The rain will go and the sun will stay
As warm beams birth a new day

I peered into the future and saw
Possibilities dancing in semi-reality
like snowflakes beneath a stormy sky.
But the one before us was clear
as ice upon the frosted curved glass.

A madness has spread among
the countless peoples of the world.
A disease of the mind which makes it seem
to the sick man as if they are made

of glass. A fragile thing, so
frail and delicate they might break
upon any but the softest impact.
The afflicted, day and night, scream in fear

at any possible contact harder
than the lightest touch.
“I’ll break”, their blood-chilling screams
echo through the empty halls of history.

The world has broken in this future
like a music-box wound down to

silence. Men and women hide in
padded chambers, for fear of breaking
their porcelain forms upon a pavement
or stones a toddler could step over.

A cure for the glass does not exist,
save for a light tap to show the ill
that they are more than they believe.
Yet the sick would rather not be healed

than face the reality of their own resilience.
The world cannot hurt you, my friend,
but you yourself can hurt the world
and shatter it like a crystalline snowglobe.

It was nothing more
Than the ways your eyes lit up
When you saw the snow falling
That made me realize
How much I wanted it to be cold enough
To freeze time

It’s cold, the supplies were low and hope was lost.
Men standing at their post, while dying by frost.
The sight of thousands of tents stretching in the horizon.
I don’t think that the men can’t keep moving on.
Our brothers and comrades who fell in the war.
Everyone knows one death, means one more star.
We will keep waiting until reinforcements arrive.
They don’t decide for us. This is our life.

On rainy days,
I tamper with my words while
my feet get wet,
and the aroma of coffee escapes my mug.

On sunny days,
I find you in the heat that
bathes my body,
while the sky is too crisp
to formulate the
softness of clouds.

And on the snowy days,
when my breath tangles in spidery flakes,
the blue hues will remember my stanzas
until next winter comes.


\the changing of season\

The magic of winter, is all around.
The magic of winter, every sight and sound.
Snowflakes and snowmen, getting cosy in bed.
Soft scarves and mittens, bobble hat on your head.
Red cheeks and noses, warm homes all around.
The magic of winter, every sight and sound.

Happy Winter.

Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Floating around, pretty and light.
The more of them that drift around...
The more beautiful the sight.

Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
They make even the messiest garden, shine.
No matter if the flakes are thick and heavy...
Or just a light dusting that's small and fine.

Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Gliding through the skies, uncaged and free.
Only resting when the winds conclude...
Gently resting on every roof, hill or tree.

Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Only present for such a short while.
A flying visit, and then they're gone...
But they sure do leave a smile.

Snowflakes are the butterflies of winter...
Making your garden glisten and glow.
They go wherever they please...
And please wherever they go.

i look to you,
my eyes trace your face,
your jaw,
your neck, your shoulders...

my eyes move up to your lips.
i then will my eyes up to yours, latching onto your gaze.
i grab hold of it with whatever i can...
i beg you with the dilation of my pupils to just please
speak to me.

i can see it...the little inkling of a phrase,
a word, or
a name.

it's so close...it lingers on your lips,
the scent of the unknown word plaguing my nose.

your lips part.

and i see it. you are about to say my name...
you are so close to saying it.

but your lips slowly close,
my name retreating back into your lungs.


i swear that,
when you exhaled i
could have sworn i had seen my name spelled out in the cold winter air


that night.