Seasons of Being (Part 3): Winter
Seasons of Being (Part 3): Winter
Like a gear slowly rusting
With feet like cement
We are zombies of snow and sleet
Brain fog taking control
Hands turned to ice at the end of stiff limbs
Rigor mortis like a dead soul in warm blood
How to hold anyone with fingers like the dead?
Mind fighting with mouth to open up
and sculpt the thoughts to words
And shaking blood to the ends of the toes
Chiseled smile and eyes like ice
Running like a frozen stream
Winter is the time for rest
But none is what we get
Creaking and groaning, press on and up
And every once in a while look
And see the glittering snow on the pines
The pale pink that the clouds turn
As if they see us looking
And start to blush
Diamond are the hills
And the soles of our shoes
With snow coating every surface
And we remind ourselves to tunnel
Until we find not the spear of an icicle
But a blade of greenery.
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