Winters cold wind spreads across a field of summer fallow,
as snow falls gently,
softly tapping on shoulders that have bourn so much,
and whisper cold memories of warmer times.
Landing on tongues, as we giggled,
and caught the low January sun through a dappled forest light,
shimmering as it fell on its way
to the dance floor,
the flash of light and the beat of my heart to the rhythms of this one,
And in the grey of my voice calling out to this wind,
and the frigid illusions of these now, tepid dreams,
I am unable to move.
And staring out to what, I’m not sure,
hidden by layers of lies, I can only imagine what awaits.
And with this knowing doubt, I am frozen in my own fear.
Feet always moving towards a simple end,
but a mind stationary, and unable to reconcile the truths of where I am…
And more simply,