Close the curtain
stem the night
feel uncertain
light the light

Winter
is a monochrome beast,
with freezing paws, an icy purr
and bits of autumn stuck in his fur

A 3am wind
disturbs the fallen leaves
which once lay dull and flat upon the pavement of your day,
those might have beens and maybe yets
which dance and fly with skipped regrets,
they only blow on you it seems
to taunt your mind and seed your dreams

Life is the threshold
existence is a windy doorway

December night
plays at sip my shadows through the door,
drunk on light
it drains the glass of this short day
and dims the sight
like many winter days before

Propagate some imagination seeds,
grow them on the sunny windowsill in your head,
water them with words,
and watch the stories bloom

To read a book,
is a sharp descent,
and a swim in the author's vanity,
to write one,
takes a different skill,
I think it's called insanity