Barren Fields

Alone, I sit and stir my thoughts into a violent storm.
And drip acid from my pen-tip to keep the paper warm.
Within the snow a flower grows, frost nipping at it's roots.
But I wilt it with ice fingers, I cannot bear to see it's fruits.

There was a poem you told me once, and hid it in the wind.
You whispered squalls my secrets every time you grinned.
I stitched your mark upon my skin, to keep you ever near,
For I lose you upon winter nights in skies so starry clear.

Your beauty lays like winter, over things that rot away,
So I let the wind speak for me, it knows better things to say.
Presume, I will, when winter thaws I'll see the barren fields,
and sow sorrow from a broken plow to see what it will yield.

So I return the words you sent me, carried on sea gull's wings.
And I take apart the piece inside me that's always breaking things.
I'll plow the fields of winter, seeking a gentle frost,

and kiss the lips of agony and bear her as my cross.