A frozen wind is whistling, all through the starry night.
snow within it, it howls along the frozen paths, of the midnight
winters winds, beneath the moon, and thousand lights.
The trees are whispering, dead leaves soon to fall, they voice
their last and final breaths, before the fall of wintertide, and
the stunted length of days. I sit and watch the evening fall,
and the leaves gone one by one, spinning down to frozen earth,
at the beck of the winter winds. I think of how I sit here, the how,
the where, the why. Why am I here, sitting and watching the death
of another year, quiet all about me, none beside me, while my age
rises from its restless slumber, and pronounces loud, my own mortality,
and the shortening length of days. Snow is falling, sound beneath the quiet,
adding depth to the empty silence. The snow falls all around, and blankets all
in pristine white, and a mantle of heavy quiet, beneath the clacking of the hardened
branches, and rustling of leaves, dead and doomed to fall, beneath the moon and
thousand stars, and the weight of early death.
i haven't been on here for awhile, due to a family crisis. All is well, but death came close, and stroked th infants helpless cheek, while the doctors rushed and scattered, trying vainly to keep the hand of death away, and grant my brother life. And yet, death heard my mothers prayers, and saw her desperate tears, and God as well, and so death left, and life was saved, for a little while, a span of mortal years, before death returns in swirling cloak to reclaim
My little brother, God rest his sleeping soul.
