Lighting Fires Inside

Snow.
Ice.
Three
below.

Everything
grows slow,
Grinds
to a halt.
No one
goes out
at night.

There is nowhere
to go.
Nowhere to flee
the demons
of your nights.

And so you light fires
inside.
False heat
to bring you warmth
where there is none,
hoping the whispering ghosts
will flee
before the house burns down.

About this poem

Don’t read too much into this. Don’t ask me to explain. The words came. I wrote them down. I liked the sound of them. It works that way sometimes.

The picture was taken just over the mountain from where I live.

Tom