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moon behind thin clouds
mysterious veiled lady
sadly looking down
false spring swiftly flees
despot winter marches back
mounts his snowy throne
balmy wind retreats
pursued by icy soldiers
laying waste the fields
once more nothing grows
nothing blooms, nothing ever thrives
purest white despair
I cannot move, change
frozen into bleak patterns
once more barren ground
so cycles hope, birth
death, rebirth and death again
still I struggle on
dragging noisy fears
clumsy feet and awkward thought
I fear the monster
I hold the monster
cold self-hate knifes from within
the monster holds me
silent, I shout help
I’m cold and scared, I hurt
get some help, you say
I hold the hand that
holds the knife too near my heart
frozen, nothing moves
© Kim Wallach 3/10/2004
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