A Jumble of Words

Winter's chill
Has come again
Hand in hand
With evening's shade
Icy daggers
In spinal walks
Torment me well
Into midnight black
Each turn I make
Every breath inhaled
Brings cold pin pricks
To my frosty heart
I am worn out
By such bitter cold
By icicles piercing
My wounded flesh
These barren lands
Of stillness and grief
Overwhelm all sense
Of direction home


Moonlit altar
Deserted wood
Lying still
On marble stone
The aching quiet
Thunders loud
In deathlike space
Of empty echos
Haunting murmurs
Of paths not taken
And regrets
As loud
As the sea