The Owl and the Winter

A moon's twisted smile overjoys the winter's cold
As an owl's song enchants an audience that hides
Within nude trees, their hearts pounding in deep trance
For he knows within his song, the winter's just begun

Snowflakes dance in sinister flight to the tune of pain
As the strong feasts upon the weak in feverish carnage
Frozen breaths linger in the air, trying to hide within the darkness
The will to live on futile prayer, buried, frozen, hopeless despair

The owl casts his shadow on the desolate, white desert
Perched on canopy's remains, deformed gallows - always alert
In his presence the meek shiver, while trying to constrain
What little of life's warmth remains - fading hope's shimmer

Jagged winds the skin pares, blowing away all will
Stabbing bones in reclamation of what belongs to the earth
For all that's still warm must fall before the ablation
All that was once warm will return to the cold ground

Aloof he looks with stony eyes on a blank face
Those with their minds submerged in the aches
From a thousand pins and needles poking the skin
As their numb limbs move on in feeble drive

Ice: immaculate; omnipresent; blinding; inescapable trap
Icicles: menacing glass spears waiting for their turn to fall
Snow: innocently waiting for the foolish to venture through her
The black frost: slithering envelop, of life, the snatcher

The owl lifts flight, wings in foreplay with the wind
Gliding through the forest, aroused - seeking warm red wine
From those too weak to be afraid, or too tired to care
A silent kill of those too numbed to feel their end

The winter lingers, with no regards of time or season
Until the forest sobs, flooding rivers down her face
The thawed pain, stripped from its wedding veil
Open gangrened wounds ready to heal come spring

The moon amused never ends her smile as she sees the play unfold
Bones and feathers, by a tree, in undergarments barely dressed
The owl's remains, now critters feast, lay at rest
For if winter wishes no one can outlast it's ruthless cold

Reviews

[TL Boehm]

WOW. The gremlins at the cafe won't let me leave a wow only so I must speak more fully. This one grabbed me and held on. The inexorable spread of winter - the way nature evens the playing field and lines like "tree in undergarments barely dressed" make this a superior read.

[Al R. Arce]

Gremlins... OK! As usual you are far too kind! I'm just happy it entertained you. Thanks!

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A most telling and quite enchanting piece that begs to be re-read, well done.

[Roland Petrov]

Ironically, winter really comes alive in this death poem! As I read I was lost in the frigid woods, along with the owl and the scared little critters. But winter also has a beauty about it; so while nature's struggle is foremost in the poem, the moon never stops smiling and I imagine a quiet world of white. Nicely done!

[Al R. Arce]

Thank you so much for your kind comments.

[Briana O'Connor]

I don't even know where to begin with this exquisite piece. There is such a haunting aura as well as a minute ray of hope. There's such beauty in the death that winter brings, as your words clearly state. The allure can be quite deceiving-another point your brought home with perfection. I love the addition of the tale of the owl, the way it seems to be at home in the piercing freeze, but alas, even he cannot make it through. Great read!

[Al R. Arce]

Thank you very much for your very perceptive comments.