In the snow.
The seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.
You’ve been down this road before; broken and broke.
There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now; free on this bench in the snow.
You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I was more familiar with words I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this. This is a photograph or a painting…”
Still, in the snow, you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.
Your last moments: broke and broken; beautiful and sad; thinking of the falling snow.
What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow full of a fading glow. Until the light turns to darkness. Then you get the chance to do it all differently.
I don’t dream of summer
I only dream of our winter
Wild wind of winter moving
Wildly moving into our bones
You laugh at the trees and snow
I laugh at the playful snow on skin
In this eccentric winter we laugh on
Forgetting spring will come too soon
Winter holds you frozen within her frosty grasp,
for she’s waited so long for jealous Autumn to go.
Your heart beats slow in her cold wild arms,
yet she knows Autumn’s fate will be her own.
The snow falls on to your hair and face to warm you,
as Winter dances her wild cold dance around you.
You love the way the snow makes your body feel,
for your heart is ice and your veins beat glacial water.
Sleep takes you into Winter’s slender arms again,
yet when you wake the sun shines down on you.
In the ice, you lay as your heart starts to melt;
then as you look left and then right you see.
You slept within the pines last night to your dismay,
only to find you did sleep between the Snowdrops.
The Snowdrops remind your heart that love is well,
as the shoots rise up from the ice to find the sun.
blood drips from the knife
such beauty winter graces
she stands in the sea of pines
a silent face within the snow
dripping red on to white
a merlot or is it a shiraz?
he will never know love’s taste
stabbed to death in the snow
From the window,
I see a world away
or something near.
If I could describe
what I see it would
tell of something
beautiful, like you.
You, with your neat sunlit soul.
You, with a sad snow within your soul that reflects light and love.
From the window, I think of you.