Winter

       Everything stripped clean across the barren land---clarity in death, when the cold winds blow harshly, biting the skin raw, as the sun in its brightness lies about its warmth.  Everything here sleeps except the broken, the tired, the lost, seeking salvation in dreams of water that does not freeze.  Seeking a spark to illuminate and light the way.  Craving to hibernate, to hide away, but having to take stock because things will only continue to fall apart even after the seeds have cracked open into buds when the soil breathes new life.
      All the friends that said their promises, and all the friends now gone.  Memories buried in snow, which covers the ground with a false sense of purity---don't step in it for fear of ruining the blanket and releasing all those emotions again.  Stuffing everything down to instead focus on survival. 
      Fighting oneself more than the cold.  The snow can fall and the icicles can hang all they want, waiting for something, someone, to help change things, to help bring back the time lost.  But the world seems too far gone, and every continent's been bought, so there is no escape.  And the heat from the fire is stifling.
      The cold is real but there is something artificial about the air, about the clouds that cover the clear blue horizon.  Life is slow, yet there is a promise for growth and renewal---an empty promise that will soon be forgotten once realized unfulfilled, buried under the slush that transforms into slick ice at night to fool the careless wanderer.  The crisp leaves replaced by cracking sheets of ice lining the concrete, hiding amid the blades of grass.  A need to tread carefully.
      The promise of Winter's end---the season may slink away for its own repose, the snow will melt and set the flowers free---but life may still hold ice and bitterness for me...

- Lisa Selvaggio

(Originally Posted 12/17/09)