Cluttered and bundled in the snow,
so still, as the effects of defeat set in.

Take from you only yesterday,
yet it’s been more than a year.

Sweet faces appear behind your eyes
to haunt your day and night dreams.

Cracks start to appear within you,
as your heart begins to break apart.

The person of all those years ended sharply,
now replaced by something very different.

Alone in the snow, you slowly rise to feel
the weight of the wild wind altering you.

Different now, you walk from the woods
back to that home now yours for good.

Their cries won’t bring your heart back
for it has turned
to something colder than snow –


Death in the Snow

In the snow, the seat is bare, except for you and a few tidy possessions.

You’ve been down this road before: broken and broke.

There’s nothing like poverty to make you feel like you’ve made the wrong choices. Yet, you are liberated now: free on this bench in the snow.

You think, “How beautiful the snow is as it falls. If I had a poet’s heart, and I was more familiar with words, I would articulate this scene with more purpose and beauty, but I cannot convey this; this is a photograph or a painting…

You sit still in the snow, and you don’t notice the gun against your head until the jolt ends the falling snow for you.

Your last moments were broke and broken, beautiful and sad, as you thought of the falling snow.

What beauty in your death. Death on the bench in the snow as you sat full of a fading glow until the light turns to darkness.

Now you get the chance to do it all differently.