A SOUL OF WINTER

Dark-brown arthritic limbs crack the silver-grey horizon

with their bent, wintered-wood reminders

of their struggle to survive.

Raped by the seasons, they are left

naked and exposed

to the elements of their despair

and the chilling winds

of their self-doubt.

 

Cold breath of ghostly ectoplasm rises from your mouth and

haunts your every exhalation

dancing like a cyclic smoky apparition

before your frosted face

on this frozen, frigid day

and reminds you of your own recurrent struggle

with the elements of your soul.

 

This still seductive place of silent shivering cold,

this pernicious panorama of bleakness and austerity

holds you in this moment…

freezes you in this moment

of despair,

strips you of your willfulness

and leaves you

naked to the elements of your truth:

 

Within the deep roots of your being sleeps a longing,

the dream of spring

and

the grounding fear

 

you will not

survive this winter.

                     

                          © p. donovan