The Death Of Winter

 

The death of winter
tears at my soul,
ripping clean through
flesh and bone,
revealing the horrors
of my battered spirit.
The beauty and patience
of spring is gone,
and now I weep.
I am scarred and ugly,
for all to see.
I cant hide or escape
from this cold wind.
I pray I can hold on,
though my soul is weak,
and taunted,
by the death of winter.