Season

Our wintering has begun. 


The leaves have yet to settle, 
yet the frost is in our bones. 
Calling for a hibernation 
we weren't yet prepare for. 
Is it that simple?
To sing a heart to sleep?
Or will this undefined amount of time
be torture to our souls?
Slow is this process, 
but our will is so quick. 
Will we survive this wintersleep, 
or will we never awake?
There's great healing to be had, 
so many emotions to reconcile, 
and so much, so much left to prove.
When we awake, 
who will we be?


Our wintering has begun.  

Winter to Spring

It won't be long now,
Before that last sun sets,
On another lost winter,
That started with such high hopes.
It's not like we didn't try,
To pick up these pieces,
But our hands were no match for the snow and the wind.
Scattered pieces aren't nearly enough,
To complete this bigger picture,
So with the thaw comes more confusion,
When clarity and rebirth should reign.
Puddles are a reminder that the time is short,
And sooner or later the ground will be green again.
A new season comes as an old one goes,
And still, we have nothing to show for our time.
Our hands are perpetually empty.