Snow Singing

Already it has been a long winter,
the cold starting early,
the grey a lingering presence,
slowly stripping life and light from every day.

A creeping torture this,
starvation
of light and color,
looming, implacable, uncaring.

An unpredictable jailor, a tease of sun,
then
it begins again, that cycle of dull hate,
cutting into your clothes,
cutting into your skin,
drawing your breath, your very life,
out.

But you have survived winters before,
found your warm places,
made your own color,
basked in the lights of others.

And you will survive this one as well,
not easily, not without pain,
but with that indwelling spirit
that is more implacable than winter’s cold hatred,

knowing hell is not a place of fire,
but a place of cold,
you burn in defiance,
and sing in the snow.

About this poem. 

Life is hard. Not living is harder. Do I hear an Amen?

Tom

PS – the picture was taken from my driveway.