The morning's breath shines through the window pane, frosty with winters grasp. Summer's heat gives way to winter's harsh winds. With bony finger's she reaps the land of riches. Thin blanket upon blanket until her winter coat is here, to hide the world from the secrets of her wild. Listen to the baying wolves calling from her heart. Listen to the creaking willow weep and sway brittle in the breeze. In fleeting moments the silence rings like the sad trumpets of a soldiers service. The frozen earth slipping into an eternal slumber. Winter's spindly arms gently hold her sleeping child, but in fits of rage she will consume. Winds and snow, swirling, thrashing through the sky. Blinding anger, rage, she howls. It's an agony few can hear for one must listen with more than their ears to feel this dreadful pain. Her bones ache with cold exhaustion. Her throat raw with screaming rage that tore throughout these lands; ripped to shreds the little strength we'd nestled away from summers light. The night will drift us into an ever colder time, and sooth us into an endless slumber.
YOU ARE READING
Winter
PoetryA poem about the harsh winter. It was written when I was about fifteen. While the topic is obviously winter, a lot of the symbolism for me was to my mental health. Let's see what you think.
